A  PLEA 


FOR  SPOKEN 

UAGE 


MURDOCH 


A   PLEA 


SPOKEN  LANGUAGE 


AX  rSSAT  UPON  COMPARATIVE  ELOCUTION, 

COSDENSED  FllOM  LECTURES  DELIVERED   THliOVGHOUT  THE 

UNITED    STATES. 


JAMES  E.  MURDOCH, 

Actor,   Reader,   Instructor  of  Elocution,  and  Author  of  "The  Stage. 


VAN  ANTWERP,  BRAGG  &-  CO. 

CINCINNATI.  NEW    YORK. 


Copyright 

1883 
Van  Antwerp,  Bragg  &  Co. 


(ii) 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBAKA 


lIDrtilraiion. 


THIS    VOLUME, 

A     LABOR     OF     LOVE, 

I    DEDICATE   TO  MY    LOVED  ONES, 

MV  DAUGHTERS 

Ida,  Hosatfc,  an5  Tannic; 

WHOSE    CONSTANT     SYMPATHY      AND      AFFECTIONATE     DEVOTION 

HAVE  LIGHTENED  MY  LABORS  AND  ALLEVIATED  MV  CARES; 

A    PRECIOUS    LEGACY 

LEFT   TO    ME,    LONG    AGO,    DV 

<0nc 

TO    WHOSE    MEMORY    THEY    BIND    ME 

MOKE     CLOSELY     AS    THE     YEARS     ROLL    ON: 

A    THREEFOLD   GOLDEN    CORU. 


(iii) 


PREFACE, 


In  making  my  plea  for  the  study  of  spoken  lan- 
guage I  have  worked  in  the  patient  spirit  of  faith- 
ful investigation,  aided  by  long  experience  and 
close  observation ;  in  short,  I  have  labored  to  make 
plain  to  others  what  I  believe  and  know  of  the 
matter  in  question. 

Should  my  impressions  and  convictions  meet 
with  the  approval  of  conscientious  and  impartial 
thinkers,  I  shall  be  content  to  await  the  final  re- 
sult of  public  appreciation.  I  hope  I  am  not  mis- 
taken in  believing  that  I  have  taken  a  step  in  the 
right  direction,  and  that,  ultimately,  many  will 
walk  where  but  few  now  tread,  in  the  light  of 
knowledge  derived  from  a  thorough  analysis  of  the 
constituent  elements  of  the  system,  before  seeking 
to  understand  and  employ  its  combined  principles 
for  the  purposes  of  education.  I  feel  the  impor- 
tance of  the  subject  I  have  undertaken  to  expound ; 

(V) 


vi  Preface. 

know  its  bearings  and  reach ;  and  am  also  con- 
vinced of  the  inefficiency  of  its  present  treatment, 
as  far,  at  least,  as  underlying  principles  are  con- 
cerned, in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  many  able  writers 
to  reduce  their  theories  to  practical  detail. 

I  may,  therefore,  well  be  appprehensive  of  the 
result  of  my  own  labors  in  the  direction  of  a  more 
comprehensive  exposition  of  the  elements  of  the 
art  of  spoken  language  than  that  which  has  hith- 
erto occupied  the  mind  of  the  educator. 

I  have,  however,  made  a  well  considered  attempt, 
and  I  trust  that  the  spirit  of  a  progressive  age 
will  not  lightly  treat  my  claims  to  a  patient  hear- 
ing. 

The  subject  matter  contained  in  this  volume,  and 
that  of  the  manual  which  forms  the  second  part 
of  the  work,  is  a  condensation  of  numerous  lect- 
ures, notes,  and  observations  made  during  my 
career  as  instructor  in  this  art. 

For  the  adaptation  of  my  manuscript  to  the 
purposes  of  the  present  publication,  I  have  availed 
myself  of  the  clerical  labors  of  my  pupil,  Miss 
Cora   E.    Gordon,   whose  valuable    services    it    gives 

me  pleasure  to  acknowledge. 

J.  E.   M. 

Cincinnati,  June,  1883. 


CONTENTS 


Introduction 

part  first 

CHAPTER 

I.  The  Early  Writers  on  Elocu 

II.  The  Inflective  System  . 

III.  Wright  and  Sheridan     . 

IV.  Sir  Joshua  Steele  . 
V.  Development  of  Systems 

VI.   Dr.  James  Rush    . 
VII.   Rush's  System  of  Notation 
VIII.    Rush's  System — Continued 
IX.    Reception  of  tlie  Rush  System 
X.   The  Author's   Early   Experience 
XI.   Reasons  for  the  Neglect  of  Elocution 
XII.   Capabilities  of  the  English  Language 


PAGE 

9 


19 
28 
29 

47 
62 

65 

79 

91 

98 

105 

116 

125 


PART    SECOND. 

I.   Power  of  Voice  and  Gesture  Comparc< 
II.   The  Development  of  Language 
III.  Significance  of  Sounds. 


139 
152 
169 


PART    THIRD. 


I.  Popular  Errors  Reg.irding  Elocution 

II.  The  Principles  of  Elocution. 

III.  Necessity  of  Training  the  Voice    . 

IV.  Art  not  Opposed  to  Nature. 

V.  Advantages  of  Methodical  Study  . 


(vii; 


187 
204 
21 1 
224 


Vlll 


Contents, 


APPENDIX. 

CHAPTER 

I.  The  Principles  of  Rhythmus 
II.   Essay  on  Rhythmus  by  Dr.  Barber 

III.  Selections  Scored  for  Illustration  . 

The  Hermit. — Beattie 

Apostrophe  to  1-ight. — Milton  . 

St.  Paul's  Defense  before  King  Agnppa 

The  Ocean. — Byron  . 

Without  God  in  the  World. — Rev.  Rok 

IV.  Hill's  Essay 


Application  I. — Of  Joy 

Application        II. — Of  Grief    . 

Application       III. — Of  Fear 

Application       IV. — Of  Anger  . 

Application         V.— Of  Pity 

Application       VI. — Of  Scorn    . 

Application     VII.— Of  Hatred 

Application    VIII. — Of  Jealousy 

Application       IX. ^ — Of  Wonder 

Application         X. — Of  Love    . 

An  Example  of  Joy  in  Love 

An  Example  of  Grief  in  Love  . 

An  Example  of  Fear  in  Love    . 

An  Example  of  Anger  in  Love. 

An  Example  of  Pity  in  Love    . 

An  Example  of  Hatred  in  Love 

An  Example  of  Jealousy  in  Love 

An  Example  of  Wonder  in  Love 

An  Example  of  Love  Unmixed  and  Solitary 

Questions  and  Answers    .... 


Hall 


A  PLEA 


SPOKEN  LANGUAGE. 


INTRODUCTION. 


My  object  in  the  present  publication  is  to  offer 
to  educators,  and  others  interested  in  the  universal 
spread  of  knowledge,  an  account  of  whatever  elo- 
cutionary principles  or  methods  I  have  found  useful 
in  my  study  and  practice  of  the  voice  in  speech. 
More  especially,  I  desire  to  awaken  such  an  inter- 
est in  the  subject  of  the  culture  of  spoken  language 
as  will  lead  to  a  satisfactory  consideration  of  the 
causes  which  have  led  to  the  present  too  prevalent 
idea  on  the  part  of  school  authorities  that  elocu- 
tion, as  a  special  study,  is  inexpedient ;  or  worse, 
that  it  can  not  be  successfully  taught  in  connec- 
tion with  the  multifarious  studies  of  the  schools. 

Elocution,  as  taught  at  present,  is,  in  most  cases, 
considered  and  treated  in  theory  and  practice  as 
little  more  than  an  imitative  art,  and  as  such  yields 
its  rightful  position  of  honor  and  dignity  as  a  branch 
of  study  based  upon  philosophic  or  scientific  prin- 
ciples.      Still,    I  feel    from    general    indications  of  a 

(9) 


lo  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

reviving  interest  in  this  subject  that  nothing  short 
of  rational  modes  and  methods  of  study  will  ulti- 
mately satisfy  the  earnest  student. 

I  am  convinced,  however,  that  the  multiplication 
of  mere  rules  and  precepts  can  be  of  no  avail 
until  an  active  and  a  general  interest  amongst  the 
thinking  public,  as  well  as  amongst  educators,  is 
aroused  in  the  true  philosophy  and  full  scope  of  the 
theory  of  the  principles  of  expressive  speech. 

Believing  this,  I  have  thought  it  advisable  to 
demonstrate,  through  an  historic  and  comparative 
treatment  of  the  subject  of  elocution,  its  claims  as 
a  scientific  study,  and  its  possibilities  as  a  disci- 
plined art ;  and  thence  to  show  how  a  thorough 
universal  system  of  instruction  may  be  attained 
through  intelligent  and  conscientious  employment 
of  materials  already  in  our  possession. 

No  art  or  science  ever  sprang  into  existence  in 
a  full  state  of  perfection.  Each  must  have  its  be- 
ginnings, rude  and  simple,  and  only  reach  a  condi- 
tion of  complete  development  through  gradual, 
oftentimes  slow  and  discouraging,  growth.  This  is 
exemplified  in  the  history  of  the  origin  and  progress 
of  music,  which  proceeded  slowly,  from  the  simplest 
beginnings,  through  long  periods  of  time  in  which 
it  languished,  was  utterly  neglected,  and  finally 
rose  again  to  advance  in  triumph  toward  the  con- 
summation of  its  powers. 

The  progress  of  a  science,  through  its  various 
stages,  is  always  the  outcome  of  some  inherent 
vital  principles,  recognized  but  dimly  at  first,  in 
some  generalistic   form.      As  it  advances,   however, 


Iiitroductioji.  \  i 

ill  the  course  of  development  brought  about  by 
lime  and  investigation,  it  gradually  becomes  divested 
of  assumption  and  error,  and  the  mind  finally 
grasps  those  truths  which,  in  the  beginning,  had 
been  but  vaguely  apprehended,  and  more  rapid 
growth  toward  final  perfection   is  the  result. 

The  history  of  Elocution  in  modern  times  shows 
that  it  is  no  exception  to  this  general  law  of  grad- 
ual development,  as  I  hope  to  show  in  the  present 
volume,  by  tracing  the  progressive  ideas  which  se- 
cured its  advancement,  from  their  origin  with  the 
English  writers  of  the  last  century  to  their  more 
complete  development  in  the  work  of  an  Ameri- 
can author  of  the  present  century  [Dr.  James  Rush], 
which  marked  a  new  era  in  the  study  of  spoken 
language,  and  placed  it  upon  a  firm  scientific  foot- 
ing it  had  never  before  attained. 

Although  Dr.  Rush's  work,  "The  Philosophy  of 
the  Voice,"  has  been  acknowledged  by  the  ablest 
authorities  to  be  founded  in  truth  and  expressed 
in  reason,  an  opinion  of  its  impracticable  character 
has  been  asserted  by  those  who  have  not  fully 
comprehended  the  principles  therein  set  forth  ;  and 
being  thus  unacquainted  with  the  practical  features 
of  their  application,  either  elementary  or  aggregate, 
they  have  been  disposed  to  regard  it  as  a  merely 
visionary  or  learnedly  mystified  presentation  of  the 
nature  and  functions  of  audible  speech. 

Such  opinions  have  also  resulted  from  a  lack  of 
investigation  into  what  may  be  termed  the  historic 
facts  of  the  subject. 

The    possibility    of  defining    and    describing    the 


12  A  Plea  Jor  Spoken  La)igiiage. 

sounds  of  the  speaking  voice,  and  of  creating  a 
notation  and  nomenclature  similar  to  that  which 
marks  the  nature  and  duration  of  the  sounds  and 
symbolizes  the  movements  of  the  voice  in  song, 
was,  for  a  long  time,  a  favorite  idea  with  some  of 
the  brightest  intellects  of  the  last  century ;  but  the 
results  of  Dr.  Rush's  treatment  of  the  subject,  as 
we  shall  learn  from  the  following  pages,  is  but  the 
exposition  of  a  more  perfect  development  of  ideas 
w^hich  had  their  inception  with  these  early  writers, 
and  but  a  complete  evolution  of  truths  that  had 
long  been  recognized,  though  obscurely,  to  underlie 
the  science  of  speech.  He  may  be  said  to  have 
simply  renewed  work  upon  an  old  vein  of  scientific 
inquiry  which  had  been  abandoned  by  others,  and 
througfh  their  indications,  and  the  aid  of  more  effi- 
cient  methods,  succeeded  in  striking  the  solid  ore 
of  truth. 

Although  our  modern  elocutionists,  through  a  pe- 
riod of  fifty  years,  owe  much  to  Dr.  Rush's  "Phi- 
losophy, "  still,  its  principles  have  never  been  ac- 
cepted as  an  entirety  either  in  letter  or  spirit; 
hence,  there  has  been  as  yet  almost  no  intelligent 
eo-opcration,  and  therefore  no  uniformity  of  I'esnlt  to- 
wards their  general  establishment  in  elocutionary 
instruction. 

A  conscientious  study  of  the  Philosophy  of  the 
Voice,  and  long  professional  experience  in  the  ap- 
plication of  its  principles,  have  convinced  me  that 
it  is  the  true  method,  and  my  veneration  for  the 
Art  of  Elocution  has  filled  me  with  an  earnest  de- 
sire to  lead  others  to  a  like  conviction.      It  has  long 


Introdtictio7t.  1 3 

been,  therefore,  with  me,  a  cherished  desire  to  see 
these  principles  universally  recognized  and  accepted 
in  their  integrity,  and  then  educationally  placed 
upon  such  a  basis  as  will  secure  their  sound  and 
steady  growth  in  the  direction  of  perfection  in  the 
artistic  uses  of  spoken  language. 

As  I  have  been  laboring  during  a  considerable 
part  of  my  life,  both  in  lecturing  and  teaching,  to 
establish  the  truths  comprehended  in  "The  Philos- 
ophy of  the  Voice,"  I  now  feel  justified  in  be- 
coming their  advocate  in  the  present  volume,  and 
their  practical  expositor  in  the  work  which  follows. 

I  have  no  desire  to  be  known  as  an  originator 
of  a  theory  or  system.  I  only  claim  to  have  found 
the  right  way.  I  think  it  is  De  Quincey  who  has 
said,  that  he  who  brings  to  light,  in  any  way,  any 
thing  of  value  to  the  general  welfare  that  has  been 
lost,  obscured,  or  neglected,  confers  as  great  a  fa- 
vor upon  mankind  as  an  original  discoverer  or  in- 
ventor. It  may  be  asked,  why  has  not  "The  Phi- 
losophy," in  its  original  form,  met  the  necessity 
of  the  public.  The  question  is  easily  answered  by 
quoting  Dr.  Rush's  own  words ;  ' '  He  who  renovates 
a  science  rarely  adds  the  clearest  economy  of  sys- 
tem to  his  work." 

The  voluminous  character  of  the  book,  therefore, 
in  its  elaboration  of  detail,  argument,  and  explana- 
tion, has  rendered  it  unwieldy,  from  a  mental  stand- 
point, as  well  as  from  a  question  of  time,  with  the 
average  student.  Moreover,  it  is  not,  and  does  not 
claim  to  be,  a  scries  of  formidas  and  methods,  and 
stated  rules.      It  is  rather  a  comprehensive  statement 


14  A  Plea  foi'-  Spoken  Language. 

of  wide-reaching  truths,  and  a  suggestive  exposition 
of  means  for  reducing  them  to  practice. 

Such  a  contribution  to  the  subject  of  elocution 
as  I  propose  in  the  present  book  and  its  compan- 
ion volume,  will  enable  the  student,  not  only  to 
follow  the  march  of  ideas  in  their  progress  through 
truth  and  error  up  to  light,  but  also  to  arrive  at 
such  a  crystallization  of  all  the  truths  on  this  sub- 
ject as  must  form  the  basis  of  any  efficient  working 
system  that  should  be  the  standard  of  elocutionary 
excellence,  and  the  root  from  which  to  expect 
sound  elocutionary  growth.  It  will  be  seen,  there- 
fore, by  such  a  treatment  of  the  subject  of  elocu- 
tion, as  represented  in  the  old  and  new  systems, 
how  the  elements  of  truth  contained  in  the  former 
will  be  illuminated,  and  thus  rendered  available  and 
enduring,  through  a  proper  understanding  and  ac- 
ceptance of  the  system  of  Dr.  Rush. 

I  fervently  desire  to  enlarge  the  area  of  informa- 
tion on  this  subject,  and  thus  to  lead  to  a  more 
extended  investigation  into  its  claims  and  merits, 
not  only  as  a  science,   but  as  a  fine  art. 

I  feel  assured  that  if  a  true  presentation  of  this 
system  of  elocution  can  be  placed  in  the  hands  of 
those  who  will  recognize  its  dignity  and  value  from 
an  educational  stand-point,  the  study  of  spoken  lan- 
guage can  not  fail  to  be  advanced,  through  their 
disciplined  intelligence  and  unity  of  action,  to  the 
honorable  position  it  deserves  as  an  important  feat- 
ure in  all  liberal  education. 

The  book  which  follows  immediately  upon  the 
present    volume    will     contain    carefully    graduated 


I)itroductio}i.  1 5 

elementary  exercises  in  vocal  drill,  for  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  voice  in  speech  ;  studies  in  articulation 
and  enunciation,  and  their  syllabic  combinations ; 
together  with  the  five  modes  treated  of  in  "Rush's 
Philosophy  of  the  Voice,"  under  the  heads  of 
Quality,  Force,  Time,  Pitch,  and  Abruptness,  with 
explanations  of  the  theory  and  rules  for  their  prac- 
tical application  to  expression. 

It  is  hoped  that  the  work  may  prove  of  value  to 
the  private  student,  the  minister,  lawyer,  lecturer, 
or  actor ;  in  short,  to  all  whose  professional  neces- 
sities or  private  tasks  require  of  them  a  disciplined 
and  artistic  treatment  of  the  subject  of  spoken  lan- 
pfuasre. 


The  (Past,  Present,  and  Futm-e  of  the  Vocal 
Art  in  Speech. 


p.  S.  L.-2.  fl7) 


Chapter  I. 
TJie  Ear/y  JTri/rrs  on  Elocution. 

Elocution  is  but  an  artistic  copy  of  intelligent, 
significant,  and  expressive  speech,  as  employed  in 
our  communication  with  each  other,  either  in  the 
energized  enforcement  of  deliberate  argument,  the 
sympathetic  and  endearing  expressions  of  affection- 
ate intercourse,  the  bursts  of  passion,  or  the  or- 
dinary statement  of  facts  and  circumstances  which 
concern  our  business  or  other  relations. 

In  all  such  communication  nature  supplies  a  sub- 
tle power,  a  more  wonderful  agency  than  mere 
words — the  intuitive  accompaniment  of  vocal  signifi- 
cance. To  arrive  at  some  definite  knowledge  of 
the  exact  nature  of  these  speech-sounds  and  their 
modifications,  or,  in  other  words,  at  a  knowledge 
of  the  art-means  for  reproducing  them  in  the  pre- 
meditated language  of  reading  and  speaking,  has 
been  an  object  of  research  amongst  nearly  all  of 
our  English  writers  on  the  subject  of  elocution 
within  the  period  of  a  century.  Where  the  earliest 
of  these  writers  found  the  subject,  and  the  skepti- 
cism which  prevailed  concerning  the  possibility  of 
describing  or  recording,  with  any  degree  of  accuracy, 
vocal  phenomena  so  fugitive,  may  be  inferred  from 

(19) 


20  A  Plea  J  or  Spoken  Language. 

the  following,  quoted  from  one  of  the  works  of 
Thomas  Sheridan,  the  celebrated  actor,  writer,  and 
lexicographer  [1775]: 

"As  words  are  marks  of  ideas;  so  are  tones, of  energies  and 
affections  of  the  mind  ;  and,  as  we  can  not  make  known  our 
ideas  to  others  without  a  sufficient  number  of  words  to  mark, 
not  only  their  difference  in  gross  from  each  other,  but  also 
the  nice  distinctions  of  degrees  in  the  same  idea,  together 
with  their  various  relations,  so  can  not  we  manifest  or  com- 
municate to  others  the  several  feelings  of  the  mind  in  con- 
ceiving and  uttering  its  ideas,  and  the  various  proportions 
of  those  feelings,  without  a  suitable  number  and  equally  reg- 
ular and  nice  distinction  of  tones.  But  here  art  has  entirely 
deserted  lis,  and  left  us  to  guide  ourselves  as  well  as  we  can. 
And,  indeed,  all  of  her  exertions  seem  to  have  been  confined 
within  the  bounds  of  written  language,  where  she  has  the 
faithful  eye  to  guide  by  sure  and  fixed  marks  ;  nor  has  she 
hitherto  amongst  us  dared  to  make  any  excursions  into  the 
more  extensive  and  nobler  provinces  of  spoken  language ; 
the  ways  through  which  are  to  be  found  only  by  the  infor- 
mation of  the  uncertain  ear,  which,  if  not  well  instructed  and 
early  cultivated,  must  ever  form  a  false  guide. 

"  Hence,  it  comes  to  pass  that  words,  as  marks  of  our 
ideas,  are  tolerably  well  regulated  and  reduced  to  order ; 
while  tones,  the  marks  of  our  feelings,  are  left  wholly  to 
chance ;  the  natural  consequence  of  which  has  been  that 
many  discourses,  good  in  themselves,  are  pronounced  with- 
out, affecting  the  hearers  ;  and  that,  in  a  nation  abounding  in 
good  writers,  a  good  speaker  is  a  prodigy." 

The  art  of  elocution  was  carried  to  a  high  degree 
of  perfection  amongst  the  Greeks,  and  we  have 
reason  to  believe  that  they  possessed  a  scientific 
analysis  of  the  speaking  voice,  and  a  system  of 
vocal  culture  founded  thereon ;  but,  owing  to  the 
loss  of  so  many  of  their  works  on  the  subject,  par- 


Early   Writers.  2 1 

ticularly  of  the  primary  manuals  of  the  grammarians, 
and  to  the  fact  that  the  Hving  tones  of  the  language 
had  long  passed  away,  the  moderns  have  had  no 
means  of  judging  how  far  the  elements  of  vocal 
sound  in  speech  were  discovered  and  taught.  The 
accentual  marks — acute  ('),  grave  (^),  and  circumflex 
( '^  V ) — o^  the  Greek  language  were  understood  to 
indicate  certain  sliding  movements  of  the  voice, 
through  acuteness  and  gravity,  or  the  scale  of  pitch, 
upon  certain  syllables  over  which  they  were  placed. 
No  exact  knowledge,  however,  is  transmitted  of  the 
definite  character  of  these  slides,  or  inflections,  as 
they  were  called,  nor  of  their  exact  uses  in  speech, 
farther  than  could  be  derived  from  such  general 
statements  as  the  following,    from  Ouintilian. 

"As  music,  by  means  of  tones,  expresses  various  conditions 
of  the  mind,  so  does  the  raising,  lowering,  or  other  inflection 
of  the  voice  in  oratory  tend  to  move  the  feelings  of  the 
hearers;  and  we  try  to  excite  the  indignation  of  the  judges 
in  one  modulation  of  phrase  and  voice,  and  their  pity  in  an- 
other." 

The  grammar  of  the  Greeks  was  taught  in  con- 
nection with  the  study  of  music,  and  many  of  the 
vocal  characteristics  of  the  latter  was  said  to  belong 
to  their  spoken  language.  Among  the  musical 
attributes  claimed  for  their  speech  was  that  of  mel- 
ody, or  an  agreeable  order  in  the  succession  of  its 
syllabic  sounds  through  the  scale  of  pitch,  and 
rhythmus,  or  a  certain  measure  in  their  progress ; 
but  as  to  the  detail  of  their  application  to  speech, 
and  of  the  differences  between  the  science  of  speech 
and  that  of  song,  almost  every  thing,  as  in  the  case 


2  2  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

of  the  accents,  was  left  to  conjecture.  Such  were 
the  only  data  possessed  by  our  early  English  writ- 
ers concerning  a  science  of  spoken  language  from 
which  they  might  proceed  to  a  philosophical  re- 
search into  the  vocal  attributes  of  the  living  tongue. 

The  first  of  the  English  writers  who  seems  to 
have  discovered  that  the  modulation  or  variation  as 
to  acuteness  or  gravity  of  the  voice  in  speech  was 
something  more  than  simple  variations  by  means 
of  long  or  short  syllables,  or  swift  or  slow  move- 
ment in  their  succession,  was  Charles  Butler,  of 
Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  an  old  English  gram- 
marian. 

But  he  developed  the  idea  no  farther  than  that 
a  question  beginning  with  a  verb  is  to  be  read,  not 
only  in  a  higher  tone,  but  with  a  different  "turn" 
of  the  voice  from  the  other  questions.  This  same 
vague  direction  was  again  repeated  many  years  after 
in  a  grammar  by  a  Scotch  writer  named  Perry. 

But  no  new  light  was  thrown  upon  the  subject 
of  the  vocal  movements  in  speech  until  the  publica- 
tion of  a  work  by  John  Walker,  who  may  be  looked 
upon  as  the  father  of  the  English  system  of  elocu- 
tion. He  was  also  a  Lexicographer  who  achieved 
the  high  honor  of  giving  the  British  nation  a  stand- 
ard for  pronunciation,  and  at  a  time,  too,  when  the 
materials  for  his  work  were  both  scattered  and  in- 
complete.* 


■•■■The  two  great  American  works  of  definition  and  pronunciation 
of  Webster  and  Worcester,  which  are  now  rivals  for  popular 
supremacy  as  authorities,  are  largely  indebted  to  John  Walker  for 
facilities  in  the  progress  of  construction, and  for  instances  of  gov- 
ern insj  laws. 


Early  Writers.  23 

Walker  claims  to  have  been  the  first  to  discover 
the  upward  and  downward  sliding  movements  of  the 
voice  in  modern  speech,  to  which  he  applied  the 
terms  rising  and  falling  inflections,  and  published 
his  discovery  in  a  book  dedicated  to  Ur.  Samuel 
Johnson,  and  entitled  "The  Elements  of  Elocution, 
in  which  the  principles  of  Reading  and  Speaking 
are  investigated,  and  such  Pauses,  Emphases,  and 
Inflections  of  Voice  as  are  suitable  to  every  variety 
of  sentence  are  distinctly  pointed  out  and  explained." 

After  the  publication  of  this  book,  Mr.  Walker 
discovered  that  there  were  certain  "turns  of  the 
voice  "  that  he  could  not  distinctly  class  with  either 
the  rising  or  falling  inflection  ;  they  were  rather  a 
combination  of  the  two.  These  he  classified  as  up- 
ward and  downward  circumflexes,  and  explained  his 
views  of  them  in  some  later  works. 

The  truth  of  these  observations  of  Mr.  W^alker 
was  disputed  by  many  writers,  who  imagined  that 
variation  of  voice  as  to  high  or  low  in  the  same 
word  was,  to  use  the  words  of  Mr.  Wright,  ' '  retro- 
grade to  the  idea  of  common  maxim  and  good 
taste,"  and  for  years  the  discovery  was  disregarded. 

Two  other  works  on  the  art  of  delivery  w^ere 
published  about  this  time  by  Thomas  Sheridan,  to 
whom  L  have  already  alluded,  entitled  respectively, 
"Lectures  on  Elocution"  and  "The  Art  of  Read- 
ing." Sheridan  was  also  the  author  of  a  valuable 
work  entitled  "British  Education;"  and  of  a  diction- 
ary, which,  though  possessing  great  merit  as  a 
vocabulary,  was  not  considered  as  elaborate  as  that 
of    Mr.    Walker.       These    writers    were     both    well 


24  A  Plea  fo7'-  Spoken  Language. 

grounded  in  the  classics,  as  well  as  masters  of  the 
English  language,  and  were  acknowledged  as  such 
in  a  period  which  is  considered  the  Golden  Age  of 
English  literature. 

Sheridan's  works  on  elocution  and  delivery,  al- 
though eloquently  and  impressively  written,  make 
no  attempt  at  a  philosophical  analysis  or  description 
of  the  intonations  of  the  speaking  voice.  He  was, 
however,  the  first  writer  to  call  attention  to  the 
power  of  sound  in  our  language,  and  to  the  fact 
that  while  scholars  were  skilled  in  letters,  they  were 
ignorant  of  the  vital  part  of  their  native  tongue 
existing  in  its  vocal  forms. 

Mr.  Sheridan  had  many  followers,  all  of  whom 
set  themselves  against  the  system  of  Mr.  Walker, 
and  cried  down  his  theory  of  inflections  as  absurd 
and  productive  of  artificial  effects.  Toward  the 
close  of  the  century,  however,  the  author  of  a 
small  treatise,  called  ' '  The  Art  of  Delivering  Written 
Language,"  and  dedicated  to  David  Garrick,  pro- 
duced a  philosophical  and  convincing  proof  of  the 
inflection  of  speaking  sounds.  This  established  the 
matter,  and  Walker's  works  became  the  accepted 
guides  to  the  art  of  delivery.  His  theories  were 
adopted  by  Lindley  Murray  in  his  celebrated  gram- 
mar, and  his  symbols  of  inflection  ('  ^  A  ^^^  desig- 
nated respectively  by  the  terms  acute,  grave,  and 
circumflex  accents,  borrowed  from  the  Greek,  from 
the  supposed  analogy  in  their  application,  were  made 
use  of  in  Enfield's  "Speaker."  The  system  now 
received  universal  approbation,  and  was  taught  by 
all  masters  of  elocution. 


Early  Wyitcrs.  25 

Another  writer  on  the  art  of  spoken  language, 
contemporary  with  Walker,  was  Sir  Joshua  Steele, 
who  published  in  London,  in  1775,  "  Prodosia  Ra- 
tionalis,  an  essay  towards  establishing  the  melody 
and  measure  of  speech,  to  be  expressed  and  per- 
petuated by  peculiar  symbols;"  the  object  of  which 
was  to  prove  that  the  English  language  possessed 
those  vocal  attributes  of  accent  (slide)  and  quantity 
supposed  to  belong  exclusively  to  the  classic  tongue. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  contributions  to  the 
subject  of  spoken  language  ever  written,  fully  estab- 
lishing the  theory  that  the  tones  of  the  voice  in 
speech  are  capable  of  a  definite  measurement  and 
visible  notation,   as  in  song. 

The  work  was  not  intended  as  a  manual  of  elo- 
cution, nor  could  its  principles  have  been  applied 
to  instruction  in  that  art  without  a  special  study 
of  its  somewhat  difficult  theory  and  symbols  of 
notation. 

In  elocution.  Walker's  works  were,  as  I  have  said, 
the  accepted  and  popular  text-books  for  reading 
and  speaking.  Steele's  theory,  therefore,  which  was 
long  in  advance  of  the  age,  finally  found  a  resting- 
place  on  the  undusted  shelves  of  English  libraries. 

Contemporary  with  the  writers  I  have  referred  to, 
were  many  able  men  who  maintained  and  promul- 
gated the  theory  that  reading  and  public  address 
could  not  be  taught  save  in  a  restricted  sense,  as- 
suming the  ground  that  their  graces  and  forces 
were  gifts  of  nature.  For  many  years,  therefore, 
the  systems  of  the  authors  in  question,  and  of  their 
disciples,  had  to  contend  with  adverse  public  opin- 

P.  S.  L.-ti. 


26  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Langitage. 

ion,  notwithstanding  the  many  and  bright  examples 
furnished  by  their  pupils  of  the  efficiency  of  their 
instruction. 

The  combined  influence,  however,  of  Walker  and 
Sheridan  tended  to  awaken  a  new  interest  in  read- 
ing, which,  up  to  their  time,  had  been  taught  in  a 
hard,  dry,  mechanical  manner,  entirely  devoid  of 
expressive  meaning.  Save  a  strict  injunction  to 
drop  the  voice  at  the  end  of  a  sentence,  no  attempt 
had  been  made  to  give  va.riety  to  its  sounds,  but 
the  pupil  was  allowed  to  drone  on  like  the  buzz  of 
a  bee-hive. 

"Those  who  taught  the  first  rudiments  of  read- 
ing," says  Sheridan,  "thought  their  task  finished 
when  their  pupils  could  read  fluently,  and  observe 
their  stops.  This  employment,  requiring  no  great 
talents,  usually  fell  to  the  lot  of  old  women,  or 
men  of  mean  capacities,  who  could  teach  no  other 
mode  of  utterance  than  what  they  possessed  them- 
selves, and  consequently  were  not  likely  to  com- 
municate any  thing  of  propriety  or  grace  to  their 
scholars." 

It  was  the  idea  of  giving  the  vatiety  of  nature  to 
the  reading  tone  that  led  Walker  to  adopt  his  system 
of  inflections,  the  notion  of  which  he  seems  to  have 
conceived  by  observing  the  contrary  movements  of 
the  voice  in  asking  and  answering  questions. 

Although  this  author  claimed  the  theory  of  in- 
flections to  have  been  his  own,  it  is  possible  he 
obtained  his  idea  of  the  slide  as  applied  to  modern 
speech  from  Steele's  valuable  essay,  though  evidently 
adapting   the    application    of   the    principles   to    his 


Early   Writers.  27 

individual  views  on  the  subject.  We  are  left  largely 
to  conjecture  upon  this  point,  since,  although  con- 
temporary, each  of  these  authors  seems  to  ignore 
the  other. 

Amongst  the  disciples  of  Walker  and  those  who 
may  be  accounted  as  original  writers  on  the  subject 
of  elocution,  were  Mr.  James  Wright,  of  Magdalen 
College,  Oxford,  and  Mr.  B.  H.  Smart,  of  London. 
Both  wrote  early  in  the  present  century. 

Smart's  works  were  written  with  a  view  of  famil- 
iarizing foreigners  with  the  pronunciation  and  other 
vocal  peculiarities  of  the  English  language.  Much 
of  his  analysis  is  given  up  to  the  alphabetic  ele- 
ments of  speech,  but  he  also  pursues  the  inflective 
idea  in  his  teaching  of  delivery,  displaying  in  many 
cases,  however,  a  perception  of  the  nature  of  vocal 
effects  much  beyond  that  of  Mr.  Walker.  Mr. 
Smart  was  the  author  of  a  dictionary,  and  ranked 
very  high  as  an  authority  in  pronunciation. 

Besides  these  writers  on  the  subject  of  delivery, 
there  were  few  others  that  could  be  named  as  in  any 
degree  original.  Many  compilations  were  made,  em- 
bodying the  Inflective  or  English  System,  and  it  be- 
came the  authority  in  this  country,  as  well  as  in 
England,  in  all  elocutionary  teaching  up  to  the  pub- 
lication [1827]  of  Dr.  James  Rush's  Philosophy  of 
the  Voice,    of  which  I  shall  speak  hereafter. 


Chapter  II. 

The  Inflective  System. 

I  WILL  first  direct  the  reader's  attention  to  a  con- 
sideration of  those  movements  of  the  voice  called 
inflections,  and  their  application  to  the  utterance  of 
language,  which  formed  the  great  feature  of  Mr. 
Walker's  system  of  elocution. 

Walker  starts  out  with  the  proposition  that  all 
vocal  sounds  are  either  musical  sounds  or  speaking 
sounds,  the  latter  being  such  as  continue  a  given 
time  on  a  precise  point  of  the  scale,  and  leap,  as  it 
were,  from  one  note  to  another ;  while  speaking 
sounds,  instead  of  dwelling  on  the  note  they  begin 
with,  slide  either  upward  or  downward  to  the  neigh- 
boring notes,  without  any  perceptible  rest  on  any ; 
so  that  musical  and  speaking  sounds  are  essentially 
different.  Considering  this,  he  found  the  primary 
division  of  speaking  sounds  to  exist  in  this  upward 
and  downward  slide  of  the  voice  ;  and  that  whatever 
other  diversity  of  time,  tone,  or  force  was  added  to 
speaking,  it  must  necessarily  be  conveyed  by  these 
two  slides  or  inflections,  either  simple,  or  in  their  com- 
pound form  of  the  circumflex.  They  were  the  axis, 
he  thought,  on  which  the  force,  variety,  and  harmony 
of  speaking  turns ;  the  great  outlines  of  Delivery. 


The  Iiifiective  Sy stein.  29 

Walker's  entire  system  of  treating  spoken  lan- 
guage was  based  upon  the  idea  that  the  grammat- 
ical structure  of  a  sentence,  or  the  rhetorical  struct- 
ure of  a  period,  must  determine,  not  only  its  sense, 
but  also  the  character  of  its  emphasis  and  its  vari- 
ety in  the  employment  of  the  inflections  of  the 
voice, — the  rising  inflection  being  found  to  express 
a  certain  suspension  or  incompleteness  of  sense, 
and  the  falling,  the  reverse — and  the  various  mem- 
bers of  a  sentence  were  shown  to  preserve  their 
correct  relations,  and  their  character  of  either  con- 
tinuation or  completion,  by  a  proper  application 
of  these  different  inflections  to  the  various  words 
concluding  either  of  the  phrases.  "The  inflection 
which  ought  to  follow  the  semicolon,  the  colon, 
and  the  period,"  he  tells  us,  "may  be  either  the  ris- 
ing or  falling,  according  as  the  sense  or  the  har- 
mony require ;  adapting  the  elevation  or  depression  to 
differait  degrees,  as  may  be  7'eqinred,  though  the  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  rising  and  falling  on  the  inflection 
which  ends  the  words,  are  by  no  means  so  essen- 
tial as  the  kind  of  inflection."  The  following  sen- 
tences are  given  by  Mr.  Walker  as  examples  of 
what  has  been  described :  '  'As  we  can  not  discern 
the  shadow  moving  along  the  dial'-plate,  so  the 
advances  we  make  in  knowledge  are  only  perceived 
by  the  distance  gone  over.  As  we  perceive  the 
.shadow  to  have  moved,  but  did  not  perceive  it 
mo'ving ;  so  our  advances  in  learning,  consisting  of 
insensible  steps,  are  only  perceivable  by  the  dis- 
tance gone  over.  As  we  perceive  the  shadow  to 
have  moved   along   the    dial,   but  did    not   perceive 


30  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

its  moving ;  as  it  appears  that  the  grass  has  grown, 
though  nobody  ever  saw  it  gr'ow :  so  the  advances 
we  make  in  knowledge,  as  they  consist  of  such  mi- 
nute steps,    are  only  perceivable  by  the  distance." 

"In  these  examples,"  says  Walker,  "the  words 
'  dial-plate. '  '  moving, '  and  '  grow, '  marked  with  the 
comma,  the  semicolon,  and  the  colon,  must  necessa- 
rily end  with  the  rising  inflection  ;  and  if  this'  inflec- 
tion be  employed,  it  is  not  of  any  consequence  to 
the  sense  ivhether  it  be  raised  much  or  little.  On  the 
contrary,  if  the  falling  inflection  be  adapted  to  any 
of  these  words,  though  the  degree  of  it  may  be 
little  more  than  perceptible,  the  sense,  as  will  be 
found  on  trial,  will  be  greatly  altered.  The  very 
same  points,  however,  if  the  sentence  were  differ- 
ently constructed,  would  require  the  falling  inflec- 
tion." 

Upon  this  same  principle  of  indicating  continua- 
tion and  completion  of  sense,  all  forms  of  sentences 
and  periods  are  marked  to  be  read. 

Emphasis,  or  the  particular  distinctions  of  some 
words  above  others,  he  claimed,  also,  to  be  effected 
by  inflection  as  well  as  by  a  certain  stress,  or 
force,  thus:  "Every  emphatic  word,  properly  so 
called,  is  as  much  distinguished  by  the  inflection 
it  adopts  as  by  the  force  with  which  it  is  pro- 
nounced. " 

Still,  in  giving  examples,  he  only  defines  the 
expressive  character  of  the  two  inflections  in  this 
regard  negatively,  as  it  were,  by  showing  that  the 
inflection  must  shift  from  falling  to  rising,  and  vice 
versa,   according  to  the  position  of  the  word  in  the 


The  hiflcctive  System.  31 

sentence,  the  structure  of  which  is  thus  made  to 
govern  even  the  form  of  the  inflective  emphasis. 

As  an  example  of  this  we  have  the  following,  in 
which  "indifferent"  is  the  word  to  be  distinguished: 
"Exercise  and  temperance  strengthen  even  an  in- 
dPffarnt  constitution;"  while,  in  the  following,  the 
inflection  of  the  emphatic  word  is  changed,  as  a 
necessity  of  developing  the  sense,  in  the  changed 
form  of  the  sentence :  ' '  He  that  has  but  an  indi'f- 
ferent  constitution,  ought  to  strengthen  it  by  ex- 
ercise and  temperance." 

He  shows  us,  it  is  true,  that  the  downward  in- 
flection accompanies  the  most  positive  form  of 
emphasis,  and  yet  the  arbitrary  variety  he  enforces 
overrides  this  in  a  regulated  succession  of  rise  and 
fall.  The  following  is  an  example :  ' '  As  two  in- 
flections in  the  same  member  can  not  be  alike  ;  if 
the  second  branch  of  the  first  member  has  the  ris- 
ing, the  first  branch  must,  of  course,  have  the  fall- 
ing, inflection  ;  and,  as  the  last  branch  of  the  sec- 
ond member  forms  the  period,  and  therefore  re- 
quires the  falling,  the  first  branch  of  this  member 
must  necessarily  have  the  rising,  inflection ;  this  is 
the  arrangement  of  inflection  which  seems  univer- 
sally adopted  by  the  ear,  and  it  will  be  found, 
upon  experiment,  no  other  is  so  various  or  musical, 
thus:  'The  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  taken  in 
their  full  extent,  are  not  so  gro^ss  as  those  of  se'nse, 
nor  so  refi'ned  as  those  of  the  understa^nding. '  " 

Besides  the  variety  arising  from  annexing  inflec- 
tions to  sentences  of  a  particular  import  or  struct- 
ure, there  is  still  another  source  of  variety,  he  tells 


32  A  Pica  for  Spoken  La?ig7tage. 

us,  in  those  parts  of  a  sentence  where  the  sense 
is  not  at  all  concerned,  and  where  the  variety  is 
merely  to  please  the  ear,  thus :  ' '  The  immortality 
of  the  soul  is  the  basis  of  morality,  and  the 
source  of  all  the  plea'sing  ho^pes  and  secr^et  jo'ys, 
that  can  arise  in  the  hea'rt  of  a  reas'onable  creaV 
ure. "     This  he  terms    "harmonic  inflection." 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  supply  further  exam- 
ples of  the  application  of  inflection,  but  simply  to 
place  before  the  reader  the  author's  enunciation  of 
the  principles  upon  which,  in  this  theory,  it  is 
founded. 

"So  important  is  a  just  mixture  of  these  two  inflections 
that,  the  moment  they  are  neglected,  our  pronunciation*  be- 
comes forceless  and  monotonous.  If  the  sense  of  a  sentence 
requires  the  voice  to  adopt  the  rising  inflection  on  any  par- 
ticular word,  either  in  the  middle  or  at  the  end  of  a  phrase, 
variety  and  harmony  demand  the  falling  inflection  on  one 
of  the  preceding  words;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  emphasis, 
harmony,  or  a  completion  of  sense  requires  the  falling  inflec- 
tion on  any  word,  the  word  immediately  preceding  almost 
always  demands  the  rising  inflection ;  so  that  these  inflections 
of  voice  are  in  an  order  nearly  alternate." 

In  the  preceding  summary  we  have  the  substance 
of  Walker's  theory  of  the  principles  governing  the 
application  of  inflection  to  the  sounds  of  the  speak- 
ing voice.  Although  he  was  undoubtedly  in  pos- 
session of  one  of  its  leading  principles,  still,  his 
method  of  applying  this  principle  was  so  arbitrary 
and  empirical    that  his  system  led,    in  many   cases, 


■■■■  Pronunciation  in   that   time  referred  to   the  delivery  of  a  dis- 
course, not,   as  now,  to  the  utterance  of  single  words. 


TJic  hiflcctivc  System.  2i?i 

almost  of  necessit}',  to  a  mechanical  style  of  utter- 
ance, rather  than,  as  he  intended  it  should,  to  a 
copy  of  natural  speech.  In  fact,  much  of  that 
chanting  or  "sing-song"  style  of  delivery,  so  of- 
fensive in  the  manner  of  public  reading  for  nearly 
a  century,  may  be  attributed  to  the  inflective  sys- 
tem of  elocution. 

That  I  may  make  manifest  to  my  readers  the 
fact  that  I  have  not  been  single  or  severe  in  this 
observation,  I  here  introduce  a  few  lines  from  a 
comprehensive  treatise  on  vocal  subjects,  —  pub- 
lished in  London,  about  fifty  years  after  Walker's 
first  publication.      The  writer  says : 

"This  system,  which  is  evidently  founded  on  the  national 
tones  of  this  country,  rather  than  upon  nature,  has  been,  hlce 
most  other  artificial  systems,  very  much  abused,  and  produc- 
tive of  more  injury,  in  many  cases,  than  of  benefit.  The  reason 
is,  that,  in  order  to  teach  it  ;horoughly,  and  impress  it  upon 
the  pupil,  the  inflections  must  be  caricatured,  and  made  more 
distinct  and  strong  than  they  are  in  natural,  elegant,  and  easy, 
pronunciation.  The  falling  slide  must  be  carried  several  notes 
downward,  and  the  rising  slide  several  notes  upward,  instead 
of  a  single  note  or  half  note,  as  it  ought  to  be.  The  pupil  be- 
ing in  this  manner  taught  the  elements  of  the  system  in  a  car- 
icatured artificial  manner,  has  his  ear  and  his  taste  so  corrupted 
that  he  carries  the  same  caricature  into  his  finished  manner  of 
delivery,  and  renders  himself  ridiculous  and  disgusting,  as  it  is 
uniformly  set  down  by  the  hearers  to  affectation,  the  very  worst 
fault  which  a  speaker  can  be  guilty  of.  It  would  be  better  to 
have  the  unstudied  manner  of  every-day  life  in  public  speak- 
ing, however  ungainly,  than  this  system  of  caricatured  elocu- 
tion, so  much  in  fashion  among  professional  students. 

"One  argument  which  we  think  unanswerable  upon  this 
point  is,  that  not  one  of  our  great  public  speakers,  in  any  one 
of  the  professions,  adopts  this  artificial   system  of  inflection, 


34  ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Language . 

nor  appears  to  have  studied  it.  Indeed,  it  would  appear  finical 
in  the  last  degree  in  Mr.  Canning,  Mr.  Brougham,  or  Dr. 
Chalmers  to  mar  their  great  efforts  of  oratory  by  such  petty 
rules  of  slides  and  inflections  of  the  voice. 

"  We  do  not  7>ican  to  say  that  tJicy  do  not  employ  them  ;  for 
they  are  more  or  less  employed  by  all  who  speak  the  English 
language ;  but  we  are  certain  they  do  not  caricature  them,  as 
every  pupil  of  teachers  of  elocution  we  have  ever  heard  infalli- 
bly does,  because  he  has  not  art  enough  to  conceal  his  art,  and 
makes  the  inflections  so  distinct  that  they  are  as  oft"ensive  to 
the  ear,  as  glaring  colors  in  a  painting  are  to  the  eye. 

"We  hesitate  not  to  conclude,  therefore,  that,  though  Mr. 
Walker  has  made  a  most  ingenious  analysis  of  the  inflections 
of  the  voice,  we  can  not  help  thinking  that  it  is  calculated, 
when  brought  into  actual  practice  by  rule,  to  produce  stiffness, 
affectation,  and  a  monotonous  sing-song  manner  of  speaking, 
the  very  reverse  of  what  he  intended,  and  what  is  expected  by 
those  who  devote  themselves  to  the  artificial  study  of  elocu- 
tion." 

In  another  connection,  the  same  author  has  the 
following : 

"  Besides  the  varieties  of  voice  known  to  the  science  of  music, 
the  ear,  by  attention,  may  easily  recognize  many  minute  ca- 
dences and  transitions,  which  have  a  very  great  effect  upon  the 
sounds,  both  of  speaking  and  singing.  These  transitions,  so 
far  as  regards  speaking,  Mr.  John  Walker  distinguished  by  the 
name  of  slides  ;  and,  by  introducing  certain  characters  and  dia- 
grams into  the  system,  endeavored  to  establish,  on  this  princi- 
ple, a  perfect  method  of  oratorical  delivery.  But,  so  far  as  we 
are  able  to  judge,  this  has  not  been  the  result.  This,  however, 
is  only  the  abuse,  and  not  the  judicious  employment  of  the  sys- 
tem itself.  The  author's  original  exposition  of  this  system  is 
a  fine  example  of  analytical  observation  on  the  subject  of  the 
voice." 

It  must  appear,  from  the  preceding,  that  the 
fault  does  not   lie  so  much   at   the  door  of  the  in- 


I 


The  Inflective  System.  35 

flective  system,  as  it  does  in  the  uncertain  manner 
in  which  the  inflections  themselves  were  explained 
and  notated  by  their  author.  That  which  caused 
all  the  after  error  was  that  his  analysis  of  this  ris- 
ing and  falling  movement  of  the  voice  was  not  suf- 
ficiently close  to  enable  him  to  define  the  exact, 
or  even  approximate,  degrees  of  rise  and  fall,  as 
well  as  the  relative  position  of  each  sound  on  the 
scale  of  pitch. 

In  the  science  of  music,  certain  lines  and  spaces, 
called  the  staff,  are  used  to  indicate  to  the  eye  the 
divisions  of  the  scale  of  pitch,  as  to  high  or  low, 
with  certain  marks,  denoting  the  position  of  partic- 
ular sounds  in  any  composition,  called  notes.  This 
is  called  musical  notation,  and  enables  the  sinp-er 
to  reproduce  the  sounds  as  they  stand  thus  marked, 
with  perfect  exactness,    by  the  voice. 

The  object  of  employing  symbols  for  the  eye  in 
speech  was  for  the  same  purpose — that  the  voice 
following  such  indications  might  reproduce  certain 
effects. 

But  no  approach  to  the  determinate  character  of 
musical  notation  existed  in  the  speech  notation  of 
Mr.  Walker ;  for,  while  those  inflections,  symbol- 
ized by  the  acute,  grave,  and  circumflex  accents, 
indicate  general  movements  of  the  voice,  they  give 
no  certain  idea  of  the  extent  of  its  upward  or 
downward  course,  nor  of  its  starting  point  upon 
the  scale. 

Again,  his  inflective  symbols  were,  in  most  cases, 
employed  only  to  mark  the  words  bearing  empha- 
sis,  or  to    designate  those    vocal   movements  which 


36  A  Plea  foi'  Spoken  Language. 

mark   the    different    members  of  a    sentence,    either 

by    a    continuation    or    a    completion    of   its    sense, 

thus  furnishing  no    guide    for    the    eye    in    the  case 

of  the  words  of  the  intervening  language. 

In  addition  to  the  accents  already  described,   Mr. 

Walker,    in  order  to  give  an  idea  of  his  theory  of 

inflection,   makes  use  of  a  series  of  inclined  planes 

to  indicate    "something,"  as    he    tells  us,    "of  the 

wave-like    rising    and    falling    of   the    voice,    which 

constitutes   the   variety   and    harmony    of   speech," 

thus : 

or 


But  this  means  of  indicating  the  movements  of 
the  voice,  as  far  as  applying  it  to  the  purposes  of 
practical  instruction  is  concerned,  was  even  more 
vague  than  the  marks  of  inflection. 

While  the  student  of  this  system  was  enabled  to 
gain,  through  the  treatment  of  what  may  be  called 
the  sentential  points  of  elocution  (or  the  relation 
of  the  voice  to  the  sense  of  the  language  as  de- 
pendent upon  its  grammatical  or  rhetorical  struct- 
ure), —  some  positive  instructions  concerning  the 
merely  intelligent  reproduction  of  the  language  he 
read,  he  found  all  uncertain  and  undefined  in  the 
directions  by  which  he  was  to  attain  to  the  ability 
to  give  fitting  vocal  expression  to  the  language  of 
emotion  and  passion. 

It  is  true  Mr.  Walker  showed  that  the  use  of 
the    circumflex    conveyed    a    certain    significance  of 


The  Inflective  Systetn.  2>7 

irony,  sarcasm,  etc.,  and  that  certain  portions  of 
discourse  were  affected,  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  sentiments  involved,  to  either  a  high,  low, 
or  middle  position  on  the  scale ;  but,  as  the  cir- 
cumflex was  without  measure  as  to  kind  or  degree 
in  the  emotions  it  was  used  to  describe,  and  as 
his  description  of  modulation  involved  no  analysis 
of  the  mode  of  transition  from  one  part  of  the 
compass  to  the  other,  they  were  both  but  indefi- 
nite indications  to  the  student  of  vocal  effects. 

In  his  treatment  of  the  voice  under  other  modi- 
fications, such  as  time,  force,  etc.,  he  is  even  more 
loose  and  undefined  than  in  the  matter  of  inflection 
and  modulation.  Indeed,  he  expresses  his  entire 
obscurity  regarding  the  matter  of  the  passionative 
expression  of  speech,  as  follows:  "The  tones  of  the 
passions  are  qualities  of  sound  occasioned  by  certain 
vibrations  of  the  organs  of  speech,  independent  on 
high,    low,   loud,    soft,    quick,    slow,    etc." 

The  vital  principles  of  the  voice,  it  has  been 
said,  consists  in  those  tones  which  express  the  emo- 
tions of  the  mind ;  and  the  language  of  ideas,  how^- 
ever  correctly  delivered,  without  the  addition  of 
this  language  of  the  passions,  will  prove  cold  and 
uninteresting.  As  there  are  other  things,  there- 
fore, which  pass  in  the  mind  beside  ideas,  and  as 
we  are  not  wholly  made  up  of  intellect,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  the  passions  and  the  fancy  compose 
a  great  part  of  our  complicated  frame,  and  as  the 
operations  of  these  are  attended  with  an  infinite 
variety  of  emotions  in  the  mind,  both  in  kind  and 
degree,    it    is    evident    that    unless    there    be    some 


38  A  Plea  for  Spoke ji  Language. 

means  of  analyzing  and  reproducing  the  vocal  signs 
of  the  latter,  we  have  not  compassed  all  the  ends 
of  art  in  reading. 

A  complete  system  of  analytic  elocution,  then, 
must  not  only  prepare  the  reader  to  deal  with  the 
understanding,  but  also  to  add  the  means  of  ap- 
pealing to  the  feelings  and  the  imagination  through 
a  thorough  and  disciplined  knowledge  of  the  laws 
underlying  those  vital  vocal  forces  which  are  the 
soul  of  all  that  naturalness  of  effect  so  much  to  be 
desired  in  reading  or  in  any  form  of  premeditated 
utterance. 

In  pointing  out  the  imperfections  of  Mr.  Walk- 
er's system  of  elocution  (which,  from  its  general 
acceptance,  may  be  regarded  as  a  generic  term 
for  the  English  system),  I  do  not  wish  it  to  be 
understood  that  I  undervalue  his  long  and  service- 
able labors  to  introduce  a  more  correct  knowledge 
regarding  the  uses  of  the  English  language  in  ar- 
tistic speech ;  or,  that  I  ignore  the  usefulness  of 
his  excellent  writings  upon  rhetoric  and  philology. 
To  this  eminent  master  of  elocution,  and  to  Steele, 
we  owe  the  first  attempt  to  definitely  describe  and 
record  the  variations  of  the  voice  in  speech.  But, 
valuable  as  are  his  distinctions  and  illustrations  of 
sentential  enunciation,  his  complete  work  falls  short 
of  what  may  be  justly  termed  an  accurate  and 
philosophical  treatment  of  the  subject  of  spoken 
language. 


Chapter  III. 

Wright  and  Sheridan. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  Mr.  James  Wright  as  a  disci- 
ple of  Walker's,  and  an  able  writer  on  the  inflective 
system.  He  is  considerably  in  advance  of  the  for- 
mer in  his  treatment  of  inflection,  as  well  as  in 
some  other  points.     To  quote  his  own  words : 

"Very  little  consideration  will  convince  the  student  that 
phraseology  is  composed  of  certain  members  or  clauses  which 
modify,  and  of  others  which  are  modified  ;  and,  by  attending 
to  oral  discourse,  he  will  easily  discover  that  there  is  a  charac- 
teristic feature  of  the  voice  in  the  pronunciation  of  a  proposition 
which  indicates  either  continuation  or  completion.  As,  there- 
fore, the  least  signification  of  one  or  more  clauses  may  be  re- 
strained or  altered  by  the  power  and  influence  of  others  more 
significant;  so,  in  the  delivery  of  them,  that  \h& progress  ■iVi\di 
completion  of  a  whole  passage  may  be  gradually  conveyed  to 
the  ear,  the  attention  must  be  kept  alive  by  suitable  degrees  of 
suspension  of  the  voice.  If  from  this,  we  take  a  more  enlarged 
view  of  oral  sounds,  we  shall  find  that  in  the  arrangements  of 
diffuse  periods  there  may  be  members  signifying  completeness 
as  to  meaning  which  have  certain  degrees  of  intonation,  and 
which,  to  indicate  their  just  relations  to  a  whole,  terminate  with 
proportionate  qualities  of  voice.  Thus,  in  the  most  rude  and 
uncultivated  appearance.of  the  subject  before  us,  we  are  sensi- 
ble of  something  like  leading  principle  and  rule;  but  \!a.t.  indefi- 
nite idea  of  sound  and  its  relation  to  articulate  voice,  seems  to 

(39) 


40  A  Plea  for'  Spoken  Lcniguage. 

hjive  involved  the  thoughts  of  those  hitherto  interested  in  the 
inquiry  in  considerable  obscurity.  For  this  reason,  perhaps,  the 
method  for  conveying  information  to  students  in  elocution  has 
not  been  sufficiently  pertinent. 

"Frequently  the  spirit  of  a  proposition  depends  more  upon 
the  peculiar  turn  of  voice  than  upon  that  stress  which  assists 
in  placing  varieties   in   contradistinction  one  to  another." 

He  therefore  proceeds  to  treat  the  subject  with 
more  accuracy  as  regards  the  measurement  of  the 
individual  inflections  and  their  relative  position  on 
the  scale  under  certain  modifications  of  sense,  al- 
though the  general  principle  of  their  uses  in  sen- 
tences remains  the  same,  as  seen  from  the  remarks 
just  quoted.  In  his  notation  he  makes  use  of  the 
musical  staff,  with  certain  symbols,  to  mark  the 
direction  and  extent  of  the  slide  or  inflection,  as 
thus : 

A  scale  of  the  principle  inflections  in  compact 
sentences. 

Is  it  A^  or  ^B  ? 


Is  it 


::^: 


The  voice,  in  pronouncing  "A,"  ascends  from 
the  middle  of  the  scale  to  the  top  ;  in  pronouncing 
"B, "  it  descends  from  the  middle  to  the  bottom; 
these  inflections,  therefore,  are  called  the  extreme 
rising  and  falling  inflections. 

Another  scale  gives  us  the.  principal  inflections 
in  loose  sentences  of  two  members,   as  follows : 


Wright  and  SJicridan. 


41 


Is  it     A^ 


^ 


Musical  Scale 
b2  b^ 


"The  musical  scale  represents  the  true  modulation  [varia- 
tion] of  speaking  sounds  ;  it  also  points  out  an  interesting  phe- 
nomenon for  the  contemplation  of  musicians.  There  is  no 
other  way  of  forming  the  complete  cadence  of  speech,  than  in 
sliding  the  voice  downward  into  another  key,  as  in  the  above 
example. 

''A  and  Care  the  two  extreme  inflections,  as  before  explained. 
The  voice,  in  pronouncing  the  former  B,  descends  from  the  top 
of  the  scale  to  the  middle,  and  in  pronouncing  the  latter  B,  it 
ascends  from  the  bottom  to  the  middle  ;  the  two  i>'s  are  there- 
fore called  middle  inflection. 

"  The  middle  falling  inflection  signifies  that  a  portion  of 
meaning  is  formed,  but  that  something  inore  is  to  be  added. 

"  The  middle  rising  inflection  prepares  the  ear  for  the  cadence 
or  entire  conclusion. 

"  The  extreme  falling  inflection  implies  that  the  sentence  is 
complete. 

"The  following  sentence  is  an  example,  to  be  read  following 
the  principle  explained  in  the  above  notation  : 

"  Nothing  can  atone  for  the  want  of  mo^desty,  without  which, 
beauty  is  ungra^ceful  and  wit  detes^table." 

In    speaking    of   the    relations    between    inflection 

and  agreeable  sound,    he   observes  that   ' '  the  deliv- 
p.  s.  L.— 4. 


42  A  Pica  for  Spoken  Language. 

ery  of  a  period  may  be  an  expressive  echo  to  the 
meaning.  The  whole,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
middle,  and  from  the  middle  to  the  end,  should 
advance  with  an  easy  elevation  and  depression  of 
voice."  This  variety  of  inflective  progression  he 
designates  as  "the  tunes  of  the  voice,"  and  it  cor- 
responds in  idea  to  the  "harmonic  inflection"  of 
Walker. 

He  also  observed  that  the  distance  traversed  by 
the  inflection  is  governed  by  the  excited  feelings, 
claiming  the  musical  fifth  for  the  measure  of  the 
inflection  of  ordinary  unexcited  speech ;  still,  he 
offers  no  close  analysis  of  this  mental  and  vocal 
relationship.  As  regards  the  other  vocal  attributes 
(besides  inflection)  of  speech,  he  is  practically  but 
little  in  advance  of  Walker.  His  sentential  treat- 
ment of  elocution  is,    however,    equally  fine. 

Wright  was  the  first  writer  on  elocution  to  intro- 
duce a  description  of  the  vocal  organs  in  connection 
with  the  theory  for  the  improvement  of  the  speak- 
ing voice ;  the  latter,  however,  was,  in  his  case, 
but  little  in  advance  of  what  had  been  given  before 
by  Sheridan  and  Walker,  and  which  had  come  down 
from  the  Latin  writers ;  viz. ,  a  distinct  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  elements,  the  proper  manner  of  pitching 
the  voice  in  public  address,  and  a  few  other  gen- 
eral instructions. 

I  have  already  said  that  Thomas  Sheridan  at- 
tempted no  scientific  analysis  of  the  ' '  tones  of  the 
voice,"  although  he  was  an  acknowledged  master  in 
their  use.  He  recognizes  constantly  the  variety  in 
speech  sounds.      He  often  makes  use  of  the  expres- 


Wr'ight  and  Sheridan.  43 

sion  "change  of  note  "  and  "note  of  the  voice"  to 
express  this  variety,  and  a  general  change  in  the 
pitch,  but  makes  no  attempt  to  describe  in  what  the 
change  consists.  He  also  constantly  speaks  of  the 
existence  of  certain  tones  at  pauses,  by  which  the 
sense  as  to  the  relationships  of  the  various  parts  is 
indicated,  but  does  not  attempt  to  analyze  the  ele- 
ments of  this  significance.  Sheridan's  latitude  of 
treatment  of  the  subject  in  this  regard,  may,  no 
doubt,  be  referred  to  his  aversion  to  the  mannerism 
which  arose  from  the  inflective  system. 
In  allusion  to  this  he  says : 

"We  are  aware  that  there  are  few  persons,  who,  in  private 
company,  do  not  dehver  their  sentiments  with  propriety  and 
force  in  their  manner,  whenever  they  speak  in  earnest.  This 
fact  gives  us  a  fixed  standard  for  propriety  and  force  in  pubhc 
speaking  ;  which  is,  only  to  make  use  of  the  same  manner  in 
the  one  as  in  the  other.  And  this  men  would  certainly  do  if 
left  to  themselves,  if  early  pains  were  not  taken  to  substitute 
an  artificial  method  in  the  room  of  that  which  is  natural.  Of 
ninety-nine  persons  in  a  hundred  who  had  just  delivered  their 
thoughts  extemporaneously  upon  any  subject  with  propriety  of 
delivery,  hardly  one  could  be  found  who  could  repeat  the  same 
words  from  the  written  or  printed  page  without  a  total  change 
for  the  worse  in  tones,  emphasis,  and  cadence.  The  reason 
for  this  is  that  we  are  taught  from  our  earliest  youth  to  read  in 
a  different  way,  with  different  tones  and  cadences,  from  those 
which  we  use  in  speaking.  Our  education  substitutes  a  few  ar- 
tificial distinctions  for  the  endless  variety  of  inflections,  tones, 
emphases,  and  cadences  furnished  us  by  nature." 

Again,  he  speaks  of  the  ' '  artificial  tones  annexed 
to   stops   by   the   masters;  "  which,    he  adds, 

"May  justly  be  called  the  reading  tones,  in  opposition  to 
those  of  the  speaking  kind.    Of  those  tones  in  general,  there  are 


44  ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Langtiage. 

but  two  used,-one  which  marks  that  the  sense  is  not  completed, 
another  which  shows  that  the  sentence  is  closed.  How  little 
fitted  they  are  to  answer  this  end,  one  may  judge  by  considering 
that  the  tones  preceding  pauses  and  rest  in  discourse  are  ex- 
ceedingly numerous  and  various,  according  to  the  sense  of  the 
words,  the  emotions  of  the  mind,  or  the  exertions  of  the  fancy. 
As  the  one  (of  what  he  calls  the  artificial  tones)  consists  in 
a  uniform  elevation  of  the  voice,  and  the  other  in  a  uniform  de- 
pression of  the  voice,  we  need  be  no  longer  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  that  disagreeable  monotony  which  so  generally  prevails  in 
reading. 

"  In  this  case  we  may  apply  to  reading  what  Montesquieu  has 
observed  of  the  laws  :  '  There  are  two  sorts  of  corruption — one 
when  men  do  not  observe  the  laws,  the  other,  when  they  are 
corrupted  by  the  laws  ;  a7i  incurable  evil,  because  it  is  in  the 
very  remedy  itself.'  " 

The  only  observation  of  law  he  recommends  to 
the  reader  is  a  practiced  imitation  of  the  natural 
tones,  as  they  represent  the  various  phases  of 
thought,  emotion,  and  passion  in  ordinary  utterance, 
a  careful  copy  of  ' '  the  vivifying,  energetic  language 
stamped  by  God  himself  upon  our  natures." 

Sheridan  entered  into  a  closer  analysis  of  the  al- 
phabetic  elements  of  the  language,  with  regard  to  their 
vocal  value,  singly  and  in  combination,  than  any 
other  writer  of  his  time,  and  maintained  that  the 
basis  of  all  eloquent  delivery  consisted  in  a  thorough 
mastery,  in  the  beginning,  of  the  separate  pronunci- 
ation of  these  elements.  And,  although  he  did  not 
do  much  beyond  this  to  positively  instruct  in  the 
use  of  the  spoken  forms, —  that  is,  by  his  writings, — 
except  as  regards  accent  and  pronunciation,  which 
were  in  an  unsettled  condition  at  that  time,  he  cer- 
tainly did    much  to  arouse  an    interest  and  give  an 


Wright  and  Sheridan.  45 

impetus  to  the  art  of  eloquence.  His  books,  apart 
from  their  philological  and  rhetorical  treatment  of 
language,  may  be  regarded  more  as  a  masterly  plea 
for  the  study  and  practice  of  spoken  language  as  an 
art,  than  a  statement  of  practical  methods.  That 
is,  he  recognized  and  enforced  the  just  oids  of  the 
art,  but  offered  no  scientific  means  through  which 
these  ends  might  be  accomplished.  He  urges  the 
claims  of  the  spoken  language  almost  to  the  dispar- 
agement of  the  written  ;  but  this  was  but  the  re-ac- 
tion of  an  eloquent  man  against  the  indifference  of 
the  age  to  eloquence.  The  reader  will  find  many 
of  his  valuable  ideas  concerning  the  pozvcr  of  sound 
in  speech  embodied  in   Part  Second. 

Sheridan's  profession  as  an  actor  led  him  to  real- 
ize the  full  vocal  value  of  the  spoken  language,  and 
to  feel  the  necessity  of  a  revival  in  its  study  as  an 
art.  The  same  may  be  said,  indeed,  of  Walker — 
who  was  also  an  actor — though  each  employed  a 
different  method  to  achieve  the  same  end.* 

Sheridan  may  be  said  to  have  favored  "word 
painting"  and  a  progress  of  sounds,  or  melody,  made 
up  from  following  the  movements  of  unpremeditated 
speech,  varied  and  impulsive ;  while  the  tendency  of 
Walker's  teaching  was  to  create  a  style  of  artificial 
utterance,  possessing  the  graces  of  oratorical  expres- 
sion founded  on  the  idea  of  classic  forms  and  meas- 
ured cadences.  As  regards  the  style  of  their  own 
individual   delivery,    Sheridan   was   dramatic,    pictur- 


®  The  stage  in  Johnson's  time  was  regarded  as  the  standard  of 
pronunciation. 


46  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

esque,    and    Impulsive ;   Walker,    more  declamatory, 
studied,    and  cold. 

Foote,  in  his  "Anecdotes,"  in  speaking  of  Mr. 
Walker's  reading,    has  the  following: 

"In  the  recital  of  the  subhme  passages  of  Milton  and  our 
best  poets,  he  has  long  been  justly  celebrated;  and  the  ed- 
itor of  these  volumes  once  heard  him  read  the  Lord's  Prayer 
in  a  tone  of  such  fervor  and  piety  as  excited  a  wish  that 
the  powers  of  this  impressive  science  mi^ht  be  more  culti- 
vated by  the  professors  of  our  holy  religion.  Sheridan  was  un- 
doubtedly a  great  and  a  popular  actor;  and  had  he  possessed 
the  tact  and  business  qualifications  of  Garrick,  the  control  of 
a  theater,  and,  above  all,  the  happy  knack  of  entertaining 
and  managing  critics  and  men  of  letters  in  general,  he  would 
have  divided  the  throne  with  the  modern  Roscius. 

"Garrick  was  more  afraid  of  Sheridan  than  of  any  other 
actor  of  his  day,  and  employed  all  his  theatrical  and  per- 
sonal influence  to  check  his  career.  Sheridan  depended  more 
for  his  effects  upon  the  power  of  language  in  its  expressive 
forms,  while  Garrick  relied  more  upon  pantomime,  or  phys- 
ical expression." 


Chapter  IV. 

Sir  Jos /ma  S/cc/e. 

Sir  Joshua  Steele's  essay  on  "The  Measure  and 
Melody  of  Speech,"  was  not  pubHshed  as  an  elo- 
cutionary treatise,  or,  strictly  speaking,  as  a  work 
on  delivery ;  but  its  composition  was  undertaken, 
he  tells  us,  to  prove  the  contrary  of  the  assertion 
in  Lord  Monboddo's  '  'Origin  and  Progress  of  Lan- 
guage," that  "the  English  has  neither  the  melody  of 
modulation  nor  the  rythmus  of  quantity,"  claimed 
1,6  attributes  of  the  learned  languages.  The  first 
few  chapters  of  the  essay  were  communicated  to 
the  author  in  question,  who  frankly  acknowledged 
the  truth  of  many  of  its  propositions.  The  re- 
mainder of  the  work  was  developed  through  an 
amicable  controversy  carried  on  between  these  two 
gentlemen  by  means  of  letters,  Lord  Monboddo 
proposing  his  doubts  and  queries  on  the  subject 
under  consideration,  and  Sir  Joshua  answering  them 
in  their  order. 

To  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  spirit  and 
leading  features  of  the  work  is  all  that  is  necessary 
for  the  development  of  my  subject. 

The  fundamental  truth  upon  which  Steele  based 
his  investigations  into  the  laws  governing  the  sound 
of   the    speaking    voice,    was    that    the    organs    and 

(47) 


48  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

faculties  destined  for  the  utterance  of  speech  are, 
and  have  been,  generally  of  the  same  structure  and 
power  in  all  the  human  species  at  all  times,  and 
that  as  all  spoken  language  must,  therefore,  have 
the  same  great  organic  laws  in  common,  our  mod- 
ern tongue  could  not  be  so  far  removed  in  the 
vocal  character  from  those  of  classic  times  as  to 
warrant  the  statement  of  many  of  the  writers  on 
this  subject.      Under  this  persuasion,  he  adds : 

"I  was  of  opinion  that,  by  employing  my  thoughts  in  and 
upon  my  native  language,  I  should  sooner  be  able  to  dis- 
cover, to  analyze,  and  to  describe  separately  what  appeared 
to  me  to  be  the  essential  properties  or  accidents  in  e7iiincia- 
tion,  than  if  I  had  determined,  in  the  first  instance,  to  take 
nothing  but  what  I  could  derive  from  the  witings  of  the  an- 
cients; or,  in  defiance  of  my  senses,  reject  any  discovery  of 
my  own  unless  I  could  make  it  bend  to  the  vague  and  dis- 
cordant rules  of  commentators.  I  therefore  resolved  to  de- 
pend neither  on  hypothesis  nor  on  ancient  authorities  for 
any  facts  which  I  could  obtain  by  actual  experiment." 

Proceeding  upon  this  rational  plan  of  investiga- 
tion, he  sought  to  demonstrate  the  fact  that  speech 
and  song  were  but  different  branches  of  the  same 
art,  having  many  governing  laws  in  common,  but 
with  certain  essential  and  demonstrable  differences ; 
and,  that  as  the  latter  had  been  reduced  to  the 
rules  of  art  by  an  analysis  of  its  especial  attributes, 
so  the  former  was  amenable  to  similar  treatment. ' 

The  art  of  music,  he  states,  whether  applied  to 
speaking,  singing,  or  dancing,  is  divided  into  two 
great  branches — sound  and  measure,  more  familiarly 
called  tunc  and  time.  For  the  latter,  he  employs, 
as  more  significant,  the  terms  melody  and  rJiytJinms. 


Sir  Joshua  Steele.  49 

First,  then,  as  to  melody.  In  experimenting  on 
the  sounds  of  the  speaking  voice  with  the  trained 
ear  of  the  musician,  he  discovered  that  the  sHde, 
or  accent  of  the  Greeks,  not  only  existed  in  our 
language,  but  was  the  necessary  accompaniment  of 
every  syllable  of  spoken  language.  Walker,  as  we 
have  seen,  attributed  this  slide  or  inflection  to  the 
entire  word.  These  accentual  slides  of  the  voice,  as 
Steele  called  them,  either  acute  (rising)  or  grave 
(falling)  or  circumflex  (rising  and  falling,  or  the  re- 
verse), he  perceived  to  run  through  a  large  extent 
between  acute  and  grave,  and,  in  their  varied  order 
of  succession,  through  this  compass  of  pitch,  to 
constitute  a  melody  of  speech,  on  the  same  princi- 
ple that  the  variety  in  the  successive  pitch  of  the 
musical  notes  produces  the  melody  of  music. 

To  understand  this  more  perfectly,  the  reader 
must  have  some  knowledge  of  the  modern  or  dia- 
tonic scale  of  music.  This  may  be  defined  as  a 
series  of  sounds  moving  from  grave  to  acute,  or 
from  acute  to  grave,  by  a  succession  of  skips  or 
intervals,  each  sound  or  note  dzvelling,  for  a  perceptible 
length  of  time,  on  exactly  the  same  degree  or  point 
of  the  scale. 

The  succession  of  sounds  called  the  scale  (from 
scala,  a  ladder),  from  the  progressive  steps  by 
which  they  proceed  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest, 
are  seven  in  number,  each  sustaining  a  fixed  rela- 
tion to  the  first,  and  separated  from  its  proximate 
sound  by  a  regulated  interval  that  is  large  or 
small  in  accordance  with  its  position  in  the  scale. 
The  eighth  tone  from  the  concordance  of  its  vibra- 

P.  S.  L.-5. 


50  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

tions  with  those  of  the  first,  assumes  to  the  ear 
the  character  of  the  first,  and  has,  therefore,  been 
termed  its  repetition  upon  a  higher  pitch. 

The  intervals  between  the  first  and  the  second, 
and  the  second  and  the  third,  the  fourth  and  the 
fifth,  the  fifth  and  the  sixth,  and  the  sixth  and 
the  seventh  sounds  of  the  scale  are  large,  and  have 
been  termed  full  tones.  The  distances  between  the 
third  and  fourth,  and  the  seventh  and  eighth,  are 
small,  and  have  been  called  half-tones  or  semi-tones. 

The  scale  is  graphically  represented  by  symbols 
placed  upon  a  series  of  lines  and  spaces,  called  the 
staff,  resembling  a  ladder.  Each  space  and  each 
line  represents  a  certain  degree  of  pitch,  from  the 
lowest  upward,  and  the  symbols  represent  higher 
or  lower  tones,  as  they  occupy  higher  or  lower 
positions  upon  the  lines  and  spaces. 

The  distance  between  two  degrees  of  pitch  of 
different  elevations  is  called  an  interval,  that  is,  an 
intermediate  space  or  distance,  and  each  interval 
has  a  name  which  depends  upon  the  number  of 
degrees  of  the  scale  which  it  embraces.  The  first 
degree  of  pitch  of  a  given  series  of  intervals  is 
called  the  prime  or  first,  the  distance  to  the  next 
adjoining  degree  is  called  the  interval  of  a  second. 

From  the  first  to  the  third  degree  is  an  interval 
of  a  third,  from  the  first  to  the  fourth  an  interval 
of  a  fourth,    and  so  on  to  the  eighth  or  octave. 

Melody  in  music  is  an  agreeable  and  regulated 
variation  of  its  notes  through  these  varied  inter- 
vals— "Whereas,"  says  Steele,  "the  melody  of 
speech    moves    rapidly    up    and    down    (by    slides), 


Sir  JosJuia  Steele.  5  i 

wherein  no  graduated  distinctions  of  tones  and  semi- 
tones can  be  measured  by  the  ear." 

As  to  the  distance  traversed  on  the  scale  by  the 
syllabic  slides,  he  states  that  they  pass  variously 
through  the  extent  of  a  fifth,  more  or  less,  or  as 
great  an  extent,  at  least,  as  that  allowed  to  the 
Greek  accents. 

He  conceived  the  exact  measure  of  these  slides 
could  only  be  made  by  quarter  tones  or  enhar- 
monic intervals,  a  division  of  the  scale  but  little 
known  to  the  moderns  (the  semi-tone  being  the 
least  interval  of  the  chromatic  or  diatonic  scale). 
In  making  use,  however,  of  this  division  of  the 
scale  for  the  purpose  of  measuring  the  slides,  he 
says,  "It  will  be  sufficiently  accurate  to  call  every 
degree  of  tone  a  quarter  tone  that  does  nor  corre- 
spond to  any  tone  or  semi-tone  of  the  chromatic- 
diatonic  scale."  He  does  not,  however,  insist  upon 
so  accurate  a  measurement  of  the  slides  for  the 
purposes  of  ordinary  notation,  his  object  being 
more  essentially  to  show  their  relative  proportions, 
and  the  manner  of  their  succession  in  the  natural 
utterances  of  language. 

In  devising  a  scheme  for  expressing  on  paper 
the  notation  of  the  accentual  slides,  etc.,  Steele 
chose  one  which  might  come  as  near  as  possible 
to  the  modern  notation  of  music,  in  order  that  it 
might  be  intelligible  to  those  whose  idea  of  sounds 
and  measure  of  time  were  already  formed  on  that 
plan. 

Taking  the  lines  and  spaces  of  the  musical  staff, 
then,  and,  for  example,  the  words  oh,  ho,  he  marks 


52  A  Plea  for  Spoke7i  Language. 


Oh 


the    upward    accentual   slide  on  oh. 
thus : * 


and  a  faUing  sHde  on  ho,   thus :  ; 

Ho 

The    circumflex,     which    he    designated    severally 
the    aaito-grave    and    the  gravo-acute, 
were    represented    by    the    following 
symbols,   placed   on  the   musical   staff 
similarly  to  the  accentual  slides : 

His  theory  of  rythmus  was  that  all  utterance 
follows  the  great  law  of  pulsation  and  remission 
resulting  from  organic  exertion  and  recovery  from 
exertion,  as  exhibited  in  the  beating  (or  systole- 
contraction,  and  diastole-expansion)  of  the  heart. 
Thus :  ' '  Our  breathing,  the  beating  of  our  pulse, 
and  our  movement  in  walking,  make  the  division 
of  time  by  pointed  and  regular  cadences." 


*  Mr.  Steele  tells  us  that,  in  forming  his  accentual  symbols,  he 
had  no  intention  of  imitating  the  form  of  the  Greek  accents,  and 
yet,  in  pursuing  his  scheme,  he  hit  upon  exactly  the  Greek  form. 
"Why,"  he  says,  "did  the  Greeks  mark  their  accents  by  exactly 
such  sloping  lines,  if  they  did  not  mean  them  as  we  do,  for  the 
expression  of  a  slide  upward  /,  or  a  slide  downward  \?" 

The  Greeks,  however,  called  their  most  acute  sounds  low,  and 
their  most  grave  sounds  high.  But  Mr.  Steele  explains  this  cir- 
cumstance in  this  way;  viz.,  that  it  arose  from  the  fact  that  all 
grave  sounds  (slides)  must  begin  comparatively  high,  in  order  to 
end  grave,  by  sliding  downwards,  and  that  the  acute  sounds  must 
begin  comparatively  grave  in  order  to  ascend. 

In  the  original  Steele  manuscript  the  slides  were  sometimes 
curved  instead  of  being  directly  upward  or  downward.  This  indi- 
cated that  the  sound  hung  longer  on  the  first  part  of  the  slide  than 
on  the  last. 

As  it  does  not  affect  the  melody,  we  have  not  deemed  it  necessary 
to  use  it  in  the  example  on  pages  56  and  57. 


S/r  JosJnia  Steele.  53 

The  pulsative  movement  of  the  voice  on  a  sylla- 
ble (which  corresponds  to  what,  in  the  present  ac- 
ceptation, we  call  accent)  he  called  arsis,^  or  Jicavy 
poize,  and  the  remiss  he  called  t/iesis,'\  or  light 
poize  (unaccented). 

These  Greek  terms  he  claims  to  indicate  similar 
accidents  in  that  language  to  those  he  here  used 
them  to  describe.  He  showed  that  by  the  natural 
alternations  of  the  heavy  syllable,  which  he  marked 
thus  l\,  and  the  light  or  lightest,  marked  thus  .  •. 
and  thus  ••,  all  speech  was  divided  into  regular 
cadences  or  measures  of  time,  similar  to  those  of 
music,  —  every  syllable  of  our  language  being  af- 
fected either  to  heavy  or  light,  though  some  are 
of  a  common  nature,  and  may  be  used  with  either. 

As  in  music,  the  notes  have  a  relative  time  or 
duration  in  sound,  so  he  observed  the  syllables  of 
speech  to  be  similarly  affected ;  this  quantity  or 
duration  of  sounds,  distinguished  by  longer  or  shorter, 
being  subservient  to  the  cadences  of  rythmus  as 
fractional  parts  to  integers — the  alternations  of  heavy 
and  light,  keeping  all  the  cadences  of  an  equal 
length  by  their  regular  pulsations.      Accepting  this 

®  Arsis :  Webster  says,  its  ordinary  use  is  the  result  of  an  early 
misapprehension  ;  originally  and  properly  it  denotes  the  lifting  of 
the  hand  in  beating  time,  and  hence  the  unaccented  part  of  the 
rhythm.  That  elevation  of  voice  now  called  metrical  acceiitiiaiion, 
or  the  rythmic  accent.  It  is  uncertain  whether  the  arsis  consisted 
in  a  higher  musical  tone,  greater  volume,  or  longer  duration  of 
sound,  or  in   nil  combined. 

'\  Thesis  :  the  depression  of  the  voice  in  pronouncing  the  syllables 
of  a  word.  The  part  of  the  foot  upon  which  such  a  depression 
falls. 

The  unaccented  or  unpercussed  part  of  the  measure,  which  the 
Greeks  expressed  by  the  downward  beat. 


TT 


54  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

principle  as  common  to  both  speech  and  music,  he 
adopted  the  bar  (  |  |  ),  as  employed  in  the  former 
to  mark  cadence  from  cadence  to  the  eye,  together 
with  certain  symbols,  to  indicate  the  different  quan- 
tities or  proportions  of  time  in  the  syllables,  and 
their  corresponding  rests  or  pauses. 

The  quantity  or  time  of  syllables  he  marked 
thus,  the  opposite  symbols 
indicating  severally,  longest, 
long,  slioii,  shortest,  while  the 
marks  for  the  rests,  sever- 
ally corresponding,  are  rep-  "^ 
resented  thus:  >      I         ^1  ' 

To  the  symbols  or  notes  J 
of  speech,  already  described,  representing  the  slides 
and  circumflexes,  the  marks  of  quantity  were  at- 
tached, so  that  the  extent  of  the  slide  or  circum- 
flex, and,  the  time  of  its  duration,  were  marked  by 
the  one  symbol,   as  follows: 

For  the  several  notes  thus  formed,    and  for  their 
rests,  he  adopted  the  terms  of  common  music,  as: 

a  semi-briei=2  minims    =    4  crotchets         =         8  quavers 

asemi  brief  rest=  2  minim  rests    =      4  crotchet  rests  =   8  quaver  rests 

I     =    —  -     =     rrrr  =   nnnnnnnn 


Si?^  JosJiua  Steele.  55 

He  also  employed  the  method  used  in  common 
music  of  lengthening  a  note  by  the  addition  of  a 
point,   thus : 

Other  affections  of  the  speaking  voice  were  indi- 
cated by  the  musical  terms,  forte,  loud ;  adagio, 
slow ;  piano,  soft ;  allegro,  quick  or  fast ;  largo,  a 
middle  degree  between  fast  and  slow ;  staccato, 
sounds  with  a  short  pointed  expression,  and  sos- 
temito,   tones  equally  sustained. 

The  forte  and  piano  of  the  voice  he  further  sym- 
bolized as  follows : 

Increasing  in  loudness:      ^vxaAAAAAAAAAAAA^ 
Decreasing  in   loudness:   \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\yvVVVvvv 

Loudness   uniformly  continued : 

AAAAAAAAAAA/\.WW\ 

The  following  notated  passage  from  Hamlet  will 
illustrate  the  application  of  these  symbols  to  the 
representation  of  the  several  attributes  of  the  voice 
comprehended  under  melody  and  rhythmus ;  as, 
accentual  slides,  arsis,  and  thesis  or  cadence;  quantity, 
or  long  and  short;  and /<^wr,  or  loud  and  soft.  The 
Hamlet  text  stands  exactly  as  Steele  gave  it ;  in  it, 
he  ignored  lines  and  capitals. 

Any  one  at  all  familiar  with  music  will  be  able, 
with  what  explanation  has  been  given,  to  at  least 
approximately  follow  the  movements  of  the  voice 
here  indicated : 


56  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 


Largo. 


pi<MjL.ii-ii;hi 


^ 


=\ 


^ 


^ 


±k 


A.'.     A.".        A.'.    A../.         A/.    A   .".        A       /. 
To     be!  or      not  to  be?       that     is    the     question. 


-6^ 


•    V        V 


« 


^p 


i 


3^ 


^=^ 


S 


/^  \ 


;^ 


A 


A       .  .       .'.       A     .■.       .'.        A  .'.     A  /.        A     .  .       .■. 
whether     'tis       nobler     in  the    mind  to        suffer       the 


^iI:J'rM.iI--I.i»»f^#^ 


A    .'.         A      /.A..     .•.         A       /.        A     .•.  A.".  A.. 

Btings   and       airows  of       outrageous         fortune,  or  to 


AA/v^AAA 


-e^ 


\\ii\\'i\\y\\\\i 


:.       A         .•.         A  .'.  A        .-.       A      .-.  A 

take     arms      against  a  sea       of      troubles,         and    by  op- 

A/VVVVVV\AAAAAA/VVVVNAAAAAAAAAAAAA/VVVVV\A^ 


^^y     V      y.     y.    2 


9-     1. 


^f* 


r 


^ 


^ 


^ 


1^ 


\\        I      \ 


N: 


A    .'.        A      .-.             A   .•.      A  .•.        A    .-.      A/.         A.-.  A  .-. 
posing,      end  them? to       die, to     sleep, —    No  more, 


AA/VvV\A/VW\aAA 


Si?'  Joshua  Steele. 


57 


^  9 


i 


Q  V  "?  V  ■?•  V- 


7^ 


2 


^fe^=^ 


^ 


7*^^ 


it 


A         .'.         A  .-.        A        .•.        A         .-.  A 

and      by  a     sleep,      to       say,     we       end      the      heart        ach 


-9^P  V    ^     ^- 


-^-I|>  l\\'^l\\^^ 


i 


;^ 


A  .  .     .'.        A  .*.  A     .  .     .•.        A  /.  A 

and     the        thousand  na   tu    ral     shocks   that      flesh    is 


iOl 


f 


^ 


^ 


^^^ 


r 


^ 


^ 


H^ 


A     .-. 
heir  to: 


A     ..    /.    ..      A     .  .    .•.       A   ..     .•.        A  .-. 
-'tis     a  con  sum  ma  tion  de    vout  ly   to  be     wish'd. 


'     AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA/vWW\AAAAAA 

This  speech  (of  which  I  here  give  but  a  part), 
the  author  tells  us  is  not  noted  as  a  specimen  of 
the  correct  delivery  of  the  passage,  but  in  the  style 
of  the  ordinary  actor  of  his  time,  and  simply  to 
illustrate  how  the  sounds  of  the  speaking  voice  may 
be  recorded.* 


■•  When  this  system  was  explained  to  Mr.  Garrick,  among  many 
judicious  remarks  and  queries,  he  asked  this  question  : 

".Supposing  a  speech  was  noted,  according  to  these  rules,  in  the 
m.-inner  he  spoke  it,  whether  any  other  person,  by  the  help  of  these 
notes,  could  pronounce  his  words  in  the  same  tone  and  mariner  ex 
actly  as  he  did  ?  " 

To  which   he  was  answered  thus  : 

"  Suppose  a  first-rate  musician  had  written  down  a  piece  of  music, 
which  he  had  played  exquisitely  well  on  an  exceeding  fine  toned 


58  A  Plea  for  Spokeji  LaiigiLage. 

This  is  but  a  bald  outline  of  the  essential  prop- 
erties or  accidents  of  enunciation  as  discovered  and 
set  forth  by  the  author,  but  it  is  enough  to  show 
what  a  vast  step  was  here  taken  toward  the  for- 
mulation of  a  science  of  spoken  language. 

The  principles  of  pulsation  and  remission,  as  the 
result  of  a  universal  organic  law,  have  been  since 
practically  developed  and  taught  as  a  primary  ele- 
ment in  elocutionary  training  by  a  few  able  writers 
and  teachers ;  but  the  great  principle  of  melody 
in  speech  was  long  allowed  to  remain  a  dead  letter 
in  the  study  of  delivery.* 

That  the  theory  of  melody,  though  conceded  by 
learned  men  to  be  correct,  did  not  meet  with  a 
more  substantial  acknowledgement  was  owing,  no 
doubt,  to  its  supposed  impracticability.  We  have 
this  opinion  expressed  in  the  following  commentary 
on  the  work,  from  a  learned  contemporary  of  the 
author : 

"I  am  far  from  thinking  Mr.  Steele's  notation  of  the  mel- 
ody of  speech  was  not  his  own  discov^ery,  though  it  is  as  old 
as  Pythagoras,  and  mentioned  by  ahnost  all  the  Greek  writ- 
ers on  music  now   remaining,  and   particularly   described  by 


violin  ;  another  performer,  with  an  ordinary  fiddle,  might  undoubt- 
edly play  every  note  the  same  as  the  great  master,  though,  per- 
haps, with  less  ease  and  elegance  of  expression  ;  but,  notwithstand- 
ing his  correctness  in  the  tune  and  manner,  nothing  could  prevent 
the  audience  from  perceiving  that  the  natural  tone  of  his  instru- 
ment was  execrable  ;  so,  though  these  rules  may  enable  a  master 
to  teach  a  just  application  of  accent,  emphasis,  and  all  the  other 
proper  expressions  of  the  voice  in  speaking,  which  will  go  a  great 
way  in  the  improvement  of  elocution,  yet  they  can  not  give  a  sweet 
voice  where  nature  has  denied  it." — Steele. 


See  Pt.  4,  Rhythmus. 


Sir  Joshua  Steele.  59 

some.  But  Mr.  Steele  has  certainly  the  merit  of  having  re- 
duced it  to  a  practical  system.  It  seems,  however,  to  require 
so  much  practice  to  obtain  a  facility  in  executing  the  slides, 
and  especially  the  circumflexes  with  the  velocity  and  neat- 
ness necessary  to  imitate  common  speech  that  I  despair  of 
its  ever  coming  into  use." 

Lord  Montboddo  thus  expresses  his  convictions 
and  those  of  all  the  musical  men  to  whom  he  had 
shown  the  treatise  concerning  the  subject  of  spoken 
language  as   treated  by  Steele : 

"It  is  reducing  to  an  art  what  was  thought  incapable  of 
all  rule  or  measure;  and  it  shows  that  there  is  a  melody  and 
rhythmus  in  our  language,  which  I  doubt  not  may  be  improved 
by  observing  and  noting  what  is  most  excelleitt  of  the  kind  in 
the  besi  speakers." 

The  principle  object  of  Steele's  essay  being  to 
prove  the  existence  of  certain  phenomena,  and  the 
possibility  of  observing  and  recording  these  phe- 
nomena by  means  of  a  system  of  notative  symbols, 
he  does  not  enter  into  that  close  philosophical 
analysis  of  the  correspondences  between  the  vocal 
effects  he  describes  and  their  ultimate  producing 
causes  in  the  mental  condition  of  thought,  emo- 
tion, or  passion  in  the  speaker,  which  is  needed 
to  make  a  complete  exposition  of  the  subject  of 
spoken  language  for  the  purposes  of  elocutionary 
study. 

He  recognizes  some  general  facts,  however,  in 
the  philosophy  of  these  mental  and  vocal  corre- 
spondences, as  the  reader  will  see  from  the  follow- 
ing extracts:  "Wherein,"  says  Lord  Montboddo, 
' '  does  the   difference    consist  betwixt  the    tone    of 


6o  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

passion  and  the  musical  tones  of  acute  and  grave?" 
Steele's  answer  is : 

"The  tones  of  passion  are  distinguished  by  a  greater  ex- 
tent of  the  voice,  both  into  the  acute  and  grave,  and  by 
making  the  antithesis  or  diversity  between  the  two  more  re- 
markable. Also  by  increasing  the  forte  and  making  contrasts 
occasionally  between  the  forte  and  piano,  and  by  giving  an 
extraordinary  energy  and  emphasis,  and  blending  the  forte 
now  and  then  with  the  heavy  poize,  or  arsis ;  and  lastly,  by 
sudden  and  desultory  changes  of  the  measure,  and  of  its 
modes — that  is,  'from  fast  to  slow,  and  vice  versa  —  and  from 
common  to  triple  time,  and  vice  versa 

"  In  the  various  tumults  of  passion,  the  voice  runs  very 
high  into  the  acute,  and  very  low  into  the  grave 

"I  suppose  there  are  as  many  circumflexes  as  there  are 
different  tempers  and  features  in  men.  The  dialectic  tone  of 
the  court,  and  other  polite  circles,  rises  but  little  above  a 
whisper,  and  may  be  compared  to  that  species  of  painting, 
called  the  chiaro-oscuro,  which  is  denied  the  vivacity  of  ex- 
pression by  variety  of  colors.  There  the  circumflex,  though 
it  can  not  be  left  out  of  the  language,  is  used  within  very 
narrow  limits,  frequently  not  rising  or  falling  five  quarters 
of  a  tone,  and,  for  the  most  part,  hurried  over  with  great  ve- 
locity in  the  time  of  a  quaver  or  shorter  note.  But,  in  the 
court  language  there  is  no  argument;  for,  in  the  senate,  and 
where  that  is  used,  the  extent  of  the  slides  is  enlarged  to  the 
extreme,  so  the  circumflex  is  never  so  apparent  as  in  the 
provincial  tone. 

"In  plain,  unimpassioned  sentences  the  addition  oi piano 
or  forte,  to  any  sensible  degree,  would  convert  plain  discourse 
into  bombast." 

Steele's  treatment  of  the  slides  at  pauses  is  sim- 
ilar to  Walker's  inflection  at  periods  and  half  pauses, 
though  he  does  not  enter  into  the  subject  at  all 
explicitly : 


Si}'  Jos/ma  Steele.  6i 

"The  accent  (slide)  must  always  be  liable  to  be  changed 
according  to  the  position  of  words,  whether  in  question  or  in 
answer,  in  a  suspended  or  in  a  final  sense. 

"  In  our  language  generally  the  last  syllable  of  any  imper- 
fect sentence  (while  the  attention  is  to  be  kept  up  for  the 
sense  of  the  whole  yet  in  suspense)  ends  in  the  acute  (rising), 
and  all  complete  periods  end  in  the  grave  (or  falling),  ac- 
centual slide." 


Chapter  V. 
Development  of  Systems. 

Of  the  many  problems  placed  before  man  for 
solution,  none  could  be  more  difficult  than  that  of 
defining  and  describing  the  various  movements  and 
other  attributes  of  the  speaking  voice. 

Although  the  labors  of  Walker  and  his  disciples 
failed  to  accomplish  a  perfected  result  in  this  di- 
rection, their  works,  together  with  those  of  Sheri- 
dan and  Steele,  marked  an  era  in  the  study  of  the 
vocal  art  in  speech,  and  paved  the  way  for  the 
more  perfected  discoveries  of  a  later  day  or  age. 

Both  Walker  and  Sheridan,  in  spite  of  their#elab- 
orate  works  devoted  to  the  subject  of  elocution, 
and  of  the  long  and  earnest  labor  they  performed 
in  elucidating  their  theories  and  imparting  their 
principles,  both  as  lecturers  and  teachers,  confess 
to  having  fallen  short  of  that  at  which  they  aimed  ; 
for,  as  they  have  both  averred,  they  were  more 
successful  in  making  good  readers,  through  the 
mere  imitative  method,  than  by  teaching  the  rules 
of  the  systems  which  bear  their  respective  names. 
Walker  thus  sums  up  the  result  of   his  labors : 

"I  have  worn   out   a   long   life   in  laborious  exertions,  and 
though    I    have    succeeded    bevor.d    expectation    in    forming 
(62) 


Development  of  Systems.  (-)}, 

readers  and  speakers,  in  the  most  respectable  circles  of  the 
three  kingdoms,  yet  I  have  had  the  mortification  to  find  few 
of  my  pupils  who  listen  to  any  thing  but  my  pronunciation. 
I  have  been  generally  obliged  to  follow  the  old  method  —  if 
such  it  may  be  called — 'Read  as  I  read  without  any  reason 
for  it.' " 

In  the  preface  to  one  of  Walker's  books,  which 
was  intended  by  him  to  be  exhaustive  of  the  stib- 
ject  of  elocution,  he  says,  with  a  commendable 
sense  of  his  own  diligence,  "It  is  presumed  that 
it  is  the  most  perfect  of  its  kind  in  the  language." 
Nor  was  this  boast  without  foundation  at  the  time 
it  was  uttered.  His  mind  was  evidently  reaching 
forward  toward  a  complete  exposition  of  the  true 
science  of  elocution,  as  a  vine  puts  forth  its  feelers 
in  every  direction  in  search  of  something  by  which 
it  may  climb  into  the  sunlight.  But  it  was  reserved 
to  a  later  time  to  attain  to  that  to  which  he  as- 
pired, or  to  complete  the  work  he  had  but  begun. 
Although,  at  the  close  of  his  career,  he  realized 
that  he  had  comparatively  failed  to  identify  or  de- 
scribe the  subtler  attributes  of  significant  and  ex- 
pressive speech,  he  lost  no  faith  in  its  ultimate 
accomplishment,  but  looked  forward  to  the  solution 
of  the  problem  by  some  mind  more  analytic  than 
his  own.  In  speaking  of  some  illustrious  exceptions 
amongst  his  pupils,  to  the  rule  of  mere  imitation, 
he  says : 

"Such  satisfactory  evidences  of  the  value  of  systematic 
elocutionary  training,  leads  me  to  hope  that  some  more  suc- 
cessful practitioner  may  supply  a  much  needed  want  by  the 
discovery  and  use  of  a  more  thorough  and  efficacious  system 
than  I  have  been  able  to  invent." 


64  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Laiiguage. 

And  again,   he   says,   in  speaking  of  his   theory: 

"Thus  we  have  endeavored  to  delineate  those  outHnes 
which  nothing  but  good  sense  and  taste  will  fill  up;  and  if, 
instead  of  leaving  so  much  to  taste  as  is  generally  done,  we 
were  to  push  as  far  as  possible  our  inquiries  into  those  prin- 
ciples of  taste  and  beauty  in  delivery,  which  are  immutable 
and  eternal;  if,  I  say,  we  were  to  mark  carefully  the  seem- 
ingly infinite  variety  of  voice  and  gesture  in  speaking  and 
reading,  and  compare  this  variety  with  the  various  senses 
and  passions  of  which  they  are  expressive ;  from  the  simplicity 
of  nature  in  her  other  operations,  we  have  reason  to  hope  that 
they  might  be  so  classed  and  arrajtgcd  as  to  be  of  much  easier 
attainment,  and  productive  of  much  certainty  and  improve- 
ment in  the  very  difficult  acquisition  of  a  just  and  agreeable 
delivery." 

Indeed,  he  looked  to  the  active  genius  of  the 
French,  "so  remarkably  attentive  to  their  own 
language,"  to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  new  and 
comprehensive  analysis  of  the  vocal  elements  of 
language,  by  the  aid  of  which  the  laws  governing 
its  effects  in  speech  might  be  definitely  and  philo- 
sophically explained.  Mr.  Walker's  hopeful  antici- 
pations have  been  realized,  and  it  is  a  fact  of  which 
we  may  well  feel  proud,  that  it  was  the  genius  of 
America  that  finally  placed  elocution  upon  a  firm 
basis  of  scientific  truth. 


Chapter  VI. 

Dr.  James  Rush. 

Dr.  James  Rush,  of  Philadelphia,  while  pursuing 
his  medical  studies  abroad,  became  much  interested 
in  the  subject  of  the  voice  in  its  relations  to  artis- 
tic speech.  In  his  researches  into  the  subject  in 
connection  with  his  professional  studies,  he  con- 
sulted the  various  works  of  the  authors  we  have 
already  enumerated ;  but,  becoming  fully  aware  of 
the  imperfect  state  of  the  history  of  the  vocal  func- 
tions in  speech,  as  set  forth  in  the  writings  in 
question,  he  set  to  work  to  investigate  the  subject 
of  elocution  as  a  matter  of  physiological  inquiry. 
To  this  work  he  brought  the  philosophic  training 
and  accurate  habits  of  the  man  of  science,  and  the 
just  ear  of  the  skilled  musician,  to  which  was 
added  a  cultivated  acquaintance  with  the  fine  arts, 
derived  from  an  extensive  European  observation 
and  study.  He  possessed,  moreover,  the  character 
of  an  independent  thinker,  and  that  large  and  gen- 
erous spirit  which  labors  on  in  the  cause  of  truth 
undiscouraged  by  lack  of  public  appreciation,  and 
is  bold  and  fearless  in  the  enunciation  of  its  convic- 
tions. What  more  favorable  combination  of  capa- 
bilities could    have  been    desired    for  the  successful 

p.  S.  L.-5.  (65) 


66  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

analysis  of   the  vocal  constituents  of  language,   and 
their  relations  to  the  artistic  uses  of  speech? 

When  Dr.  Rush  first  turned  his  attention  to  the 
phenomena  of  the  voice  (1820),  ingenious  theories 
as  to  the  structure  and  action  of  the  vocal  organs 
were  numerous  amongst  physiologists  of  the  highest 
rank,  but  conflicting  in  their  statements  and  unavail- 
able for  the  purposes  of  practical  utility  to  the 
teacher  or  student  of  vocal  expression.  Thus,  what- 
ever facts  of  physiological  research  might  have  been 
made  serviceable  for  the  discipline  and  development 
of  the  voice  in  speech,  were  buried  in  a  mass  of 
prejudice  and  arbitrary  assumption,  until  it  seemed 
doubtful  whether  any  exertion  of  human  skill  could 
extract  a  single  practical  ray  of  truth  from  the  dis- 
puted question.  Dr.  Rush,  in  pursuing  the  subject 
of  vocal  mechanism,  by  adhering  closely  to  the  laws 
of  analytic  investigation,  succeeded  in  clearing  away 
much  obstructing  matter,  but  became  finally  satis- 
fied that  no  exact  truth  with  regard  to  the  vital 
principles  of  speech  could  be  discovered  in  such  re- 
searches, on  account  of  the  impossibility  of  observ- 
ing, with  accuracy,  all  the  actions  of  the  living 
organs  during  the  production  of  speech  sounds.* 
He  therefore  turned  his  attention  to  a  close  obser- 
vation and  analysis  of  vocal  sound  itself,  having  con- 


"•■■  Of  whatever  service  the  discovery  of  the  laryngoscope  has 
been  to  pathological  science,  or  to  that  of  vocal  music,  it  has 
failed  to  throw  any  further  light  on  the  subject  of  the  produc- 
tion of  what  may  be  called  the  note  of  speech,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  the  peculiar  action  of  the  organs  in  the  spoken  utterance  of 
vowels  or  syllabic  sounds  displaces  the  instrument,  and  thus  pre- 
vents any  accurate  observation   of   their  exact  producing  causes. 


D}'.  James  Rush.  67 

ceived  the  idea  of  making  his  combined  knowledge 
of  music  and  physiology  serve  him  in  this  labor. 
Although  availing  himself  of  the  suggestive  ideas 
of  the  systems  which  had  preceded  him,  especially 
of  that  of  Steele,  he  passed  beyond  their  uncertain 
foot-prints,  and  sought  the  revelations  of  truth 
where  most  surely  to  be  found — from  nature  herself. 

While  his  brother  physiologists  were  carefully 
inspecting  the  cartilages  and  muscles  of  the  larynx, 
that  they  might  invent  learned  theories  concerning 
the  causative  mechanism  of  the  various  vocal  effects, 
Dr.  Rush  was  appl}^ing  the  keen  scalpel  of  analyt- 
ical dissection  to  these  very  effects,  studying  and 
noting  their  form  and  degree,  together  with  their 
exact  relations  to  the  various  states  of  mind  which 
are  their  primary  producing  causes. 

The  first  valuable  facts  he  obtained  he  applied  to 
his  recollections  of  the  beautiful  elocution  of  Mrs. 
Siddons,  which  he  regarded  as  a  perfect  model  of 
elegant  and  natural  speech  ;  and,  continuing  his  re- 
searches into  the  elementary  nature  and  functions 
of  vocality,  he  succeeded  in  measuring  the  move- 
ments of  the  voice  by  means  of  a  fixed  scale,  and 
in  making  other  valuable  discoveries  with  regard  to 
the  nature  of  the  various  vocal  phenomena  exhibi- 
ted in  the  variety  of  natural  speech.  These  phe- 
nomena he  recorded  by  means  of  intelligible  sym- 
bols, and  an  accurate  nomenclature,  and  classified 
them  in  strict  accordance  with  the  natural  laws 
governing  their  relation  to  thought  and  passion,  in 
his  work  entitled  "The  Philosophy  of  the  Human 
Voice."     (The  first  edition   was  published  in   1827; 


68  A  Plea  for  Spoken  La7igitage. 

the    second,    in    1833;    and    finally    the    sixth,     in 
1867). 

A  brief  analysis  of  Dr.  Rush's  mode  of  investi- 
gation, and  a  synopsis  of  the  chief  features  of  his 
discoveries,  may  enable  the  reader  to  form  at  least 
a  general  idea  of  the  value  of  the  latter,  in  their 
relation  to  the  elocution  of  the  past  and  of  the 
future. 

The  slide  and  its  application  to  certain  syllables 
was  known  to  the  ancients ;  but  it  is  impossible 
to  say,  at  present,  how  far  the  knowledge  of  this 
principle  extended. 

Walker  and  others  used  the  word  slide,  or  in- 
flection,   in  a  vague  and  undefined  manner. 

Steele  was  more  accurate  than  Walker  in  his 
treatment  of  the  slide,  showing  how  it  might  be 
carried  on  the  syllables  of  speech,  through  the 
compass  of  the  musical  scale.  He  entered,  how- 
ever, into  no  discriminative  analysis  of  the  vocal 
properties  of  this  slide  and  their  peculiar  functions 
in  the  expression  of  thought  and  passion ;  and,  val- 
uable as  were  his  contributions  on  the  subject,  he 
fell  short  of  a  perfect  dev^elopment  of  the  vocal 
functions  "by  assuming  identities,"  says  Rush, 
"which  do  not  exist,  between  certain  points  in 
music  and  speech."  He  adds  that  Steele  possessed 
* '  power  sufficient,  when  not  restrained  or  per- 
verted, to  have  developed  the  whole  philosophy  of 
speech." 

Dr.  Rush,  in  his  investigations  into  the  subject 
of  this  vocal  slide,  by  careful  observation  and  ex- 
periment,   discovered  that  a  vowel   sound,  in  its  ca- 


Di'.  James  Rush.  69 

pacity  for  prolongation  in  accordance  with  the  nat- 
ural law  of  the  vocal  mechanism,  was  susceptible 
of  this  continuous  movement,  rising  or  falling,  from 
its  inception  at  one  point  of  the  scale  to  its  ter- 
mination at  another,  through  the  interval  of  a  sec- 
ond of  the  simple  and  familiar  diatonic  scale.  He 
next  traced  this  stream  of  sound  through  other 
wider  intervals  of  the  scale,  as  the  third,  fifth,  and 
octave.  To  this  progressive  movement  of  sound, 
exhibited  on  each  separate  impulse  of  the  voice, 
elemental  or  syllabic,  he  gave  the  name  of  the  vo- 
cal concrete  —  sound  concreted  or  grown  together  — 
either  as  expressed  on  the  upward  or  downward 
continuous  progression  of  sound  ;  or,  on  those  more 
extended  sweeps  of  the  voice,  composed  of  a  blend- 
ing of  the  upward  and  downward  movements,  or 
the  reverse,  which  he  called  a  zvave  instead  of  a 
circumflex,  as  more  appropriate  to  its  vocal  form. 
The  fact  that  as  the  concrete  carried  the  voice 
either  upward  or  downward  on  each  separate  sylla- 
bic utterance,  necessarily  involved  a  repetition  of 
the  concrete  movement  on  the  next,  and  hence  a 
fresh  starting  point,  which,  being  more  or  less  re- 
mote, with  regard  to  the  preceding  concrete  on  the 
scale  of  speech,  caused  a  point,  or  interval  of  silence, 
between  the  syllabic  impulses,  thus  suggesting,  from 
its  separating  character,  the  opposite  term,  discrete 
movement.  The  varied  succession  of  these  two 
movements  of  concrete  and  discrete  pitch,  he  found 
to  constitute  the  melody  in  speech,  and  to  be  a 
constant  and  measurable  accompaniment  of  all  spo- 
ken language. 


70  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

The  act  of  performing  the  movements  of  pitch 
through  any  interval,  concrete  or  discrete,  of  the 
scale  in  speech,  as  in  song,  he  called  intojiation. 
He  was  the  first  writer  to  make  use  of  this  term 
as  applied  to  the  sounds  of  speech,  although  it  had 
been  in  use  amongst  writers  on  music  for  at  least 
a  century,  to  denote  the  precise  recognition  of  in- 
tervals. 

The  concrete  intonation  was  supposed  with  the 
Greeks  to  belong  exclusively  to  speech,  and  the 
discrete  to  music,  but  Dr.  Rush  showed  that  they 
botJi  belonged  to  speech,  and  carried  with  them, 
both  severally  and  in  their  successions  in  melody, 
a  certain  significance  and  power  of  expression. 

Melody,  as  here  described,  is  not  that  regular 
recurrence  of  sounds  constituting  the  offensive  pe- 
culiarity commonly  called  "reading  in  a  tune,"  but 
that  agreeable  variety  in  their  order  of  succession 
which  constitutes  one  of  the  graces  of  language, 
adds  to  its  power  of  expression,  and  relieves  it  of 
tedious  monotony  or  of  sameness  in  effect.  This 
was  the  principle  of  the  speaking  voice  Steele  so 
clearly  demonstrated  to  exist,  though  not  pursuing 
it  into  its  expressive  functions,  and  which  the  other 
writers  sought  to  describe  under  the  terms  of 
"tunes  of  the  voice,"    "harmonic   inflection,"  etc. 

Thus  Dr.  Rush's  close  study  of  the  natural  ut- 
terance resulted  in  the  long  deferred  consummation 
of  a  definite  and  tangible  measurement  of  ths  ex- 
tent of  the  speech  intonations,  and  in  a  satisfactory 
and  practicable  treatment  of  the  melody  of  speech. 

But  one  of  the  crownine   features  of   his  discov- 


Dr.  James  Rush.  71 

eries,  and  one  which  he  may  be  said  to  have 
worked  out  without  even  a  suggestion  from  his 
predecessors,  was  that  this  concreted  stream  of  the 
elementary  or  syllabic  sounds  of  language  was  the 
vocal  current  on  which  were  borne  those  peculiar 
stressful  effects  of  force  or  of  significance  which 
vitalize  all  utterance,  and  constitute,  in  great  meas- 
ure, the  emphasis  of  language. 

These  different  forms  and  varieties  of  the  con- 
crete, he  found  to  spring  from  one  generic  root, 
in  the  formation  of  the  vowels,  —  a  mere  point  of 
sound,  produced  by  an  occlusion  in  the  larynx,  and 
the  subsequent  ejectment  of  air  from  the  lungs, 
overcoming  the  momentary  resistance  by  the  means 
of  certain  muscular  agencies. 

He  observed  that  the  vocal  effect  heard  in  tJie 
r.atiiral  cough  formed  this  "root  of  vocality"'  in 
all  the  vowel  sounds,  and  he  made  it  apparent  by 
the  execution  of  a  voluntary  cough,  imitated  from 
the  natural  act. 

This  abrupt  effect,  he  found  to  mark,  in  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  the  inception  of  every  vowel  sound, 
and  hence  to  be  the  root  of  every  syllable  in 
speech.  He  next  observed  that  this  vocal  impulse 
was  susceptible  of  a  graceful  and  delicate  conclusion, 
well  exemplified  in  the  natural  sigh  —  a  gradually 
diminishing  process  or  vanish  of  sound,  into  which 
the  radical  attenuates  in  what  he  called  the  equable 
concrete  of  speech,  existing  in  the  ordinary  utterance 
of  unimpassioned  language. 

He  then  observed  in  the  peculiar  extended  or 
drawn    out    sound    of   the   ya7Cin,    the    type    of   that 


72  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

swell  or  expansion  of  the  voice-material  on  the 
vocal  or  syllabic  concrete  utterance,  often  heard  as 
a  natural  and  beautiful  expressive  effect.  This  he 
called  the  Median  stress ;  while  that  distinctly  marked 
jerking  movement  or  accumulation  of  force  at  the 
end  of  the  sneeze  or  Jiiccoiigh,  served  as  an  illustra- 
tion of  a  third  natural  expressive  form  of  force  ap- 
plied to  the  syllabic  concrete,  which  he  called  van- 
isJimg  or  final  stress. 

This  analysis  of  the  force  applied  to  the  vocal 
concrete,  gave  a  definiteness  to  the  study  of  the 
former  attribute  of  the  voice,  never  before  attained ; 
for  here  were  recognizable  forms  of  force  described, 
where  previously  there  had  been  nothing  observed 
but  the  general  variations  of  strong  and  weak,  or 
forte  and  piano.  These  modifications  of  degree  rep- 
resented the  intensity,  or  muscular  exertion,  applied 
in  the  formation  of  the  several  forms  or  stresses 
named. 

In  connection  with  this  elementary  analysis,  Dr. 
Rush  also  made  a  masterly  exposition  of  that  attri- 
bute of  the  voice  known  in  music  as  timbre,  and 
which  he  designated  as  quality,  or  kind,  descriptive 
of  its  peculiar  sound,  independent  of  height  or 
depth. 

In  this  connection,  he  made  apparent,  through 
his  study  of  the  mechanism  of  the  elements,  the 
means  for  improving  the  natural  voice  to  its  fullest 
capacity  for  agreeable  sound  by  a  correct  practice 
in  their  formation. 

All  previous  writers  had  described  the  vowels  as 
sounds  fioiuifig  through  opened  organs,  not  recognizing 


Dr.  James  Rush.  jt, 

the  vital  part  of  their  mechanism  as  existing  in 
the  closing  or  occlusion  of  the  inner  mouth.  A 
correct  practice  in  elementary  training  on  this  root 
of  vocality  or  radical  of  the  vowel  sounds,  Rush 
showed  to  form  the  basis  of  nearly  all  voice  devel- 
opment. 

The  idea  of  a  special  vocal  culture,  or  elementary 
training  for  speech,  originated  with  this  author,  and 
forms  one  of  the  great  features  of  his  system  of 
vocal  principles. 

It  had  been,  it  is  true,  an  acknowledged  idea 
that  the  speaking  voice  could  be  improved  by  prac- 
tice in  reading  aloud,  and  Sheridan,  Wright,  and 
Smart  recommended  an  elementary  training  on  sep- 
arate elements  for  the  sake  of  improving  distinct- 
ness of  articulation,  but  it  was  disconnected  with 
any  definite  idea  of  improvement  of  the  quality  of 
the  voice. 

The  discovery  of  the  syllabic  function  of  the  rad- 
ical and  vanish  also  enabled  Dr.  Rush  to  throw  a 
great  light  on  the  subject  of  quantity,  which  Steele 
was  the  first  to  prove  was  a  positive  value  in  our 
language.  His  elucidation  of  the  subject  of  con- 
crete intonation,  particularly  in  that  form  called  the 
wave,  demonstrates  the  fact  that  certain  syllables 
are  capable  of  indefinite  extension,  for  the  purposes 
of  beauty  and  expression,  without  falling  into  the 
level  note  of  song  or  the  drawl  of  speech. 

But  the  great  fundamental  principle  of  Dr.  Rush's 
philosophy  of  spoken  language,  and  one  overlooked 
in  any  thing  like  scientific  detail,  as  we  have  al- 
ready noted,   in  former  systems,   was  that  every  state 

p.  S.  L.— 7. 


74  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

of  the  mind  had  its  corresponding  vocal  signs  in  some 
of  the  varied  forms  of  pitch,  force,  time,  and  quality. 
These  vocal  signs  he  observed  and  recorded,  not 
only  as  we  have  briefly  described,  with  reference 
to  their  individual  form  and  character,  but  classified 
them  on  the  principles  of  this  natjiral  relation  to  the 
mental  phenomena  of  which  they  are  the  audible  indi- 
cation. In  other  words,  he  found  that  the  concrete 
interval  of  the  second  on  each  syllabic  utterance, 
proceeding  in  their  succession  by  discrete  intervals 
of  a  second,  was  the  proper  or  natural  means  for 
expressing  unimpassioned  thought  or  the  plain  state- 
ment of  facts ;  while  a  syllabic  progression  through 
the  more  extended  concretes,  with  accompaniments 
of  extended  discrete  movements,  or  jumps  of  the 
voice,  and  the  additional  modifications  of  stress, 
quality,  time,  etc.,  he  found  to  be  adapted  to  the 
varied  expression  of  feeling  and  passion.  It  is  a 
remarkable  fact  that,  among  those  who  have  em- 
ployed and  borrowed  from  Rush's  principles  of 
speech,  the  greater  number  have  overlooked  this 
essential  difference  between  the  vocal  forms  of  hu- 
man thought  and  human  passion. 

A  description  of  the  various  elements  of  the  voice 
in  speech  which  we  have  noted  in  this  brief  sum- 
mary, in  all  their  variety  of  form,  application,  and 
combination  in  the  progression  of  syllabic  utterance 
in  speaking  or  reading,  goes  to  make  up  the  sum  of 
Dr.  Rush's  contribution  to  the  art  of  spoken  lan- 
guage, and  to  prove  that  there  is  a  science  of 
speech  analogous  to  that  of  music,  and  possessing 
equal  elements  of  growth  and  perfection. 


Di^.  Jauics  Rush.  75 

From  even  so  brief  a  review  of  the  salient  feat- 
ures of  this  author's  discoveries,  I  think  the  reader 
will  be  able  to  see  that  the  syllabic  concrete  was 
the  simple  key  by  which  he  unlocked  the  supposed 
mysteries  of  the  speaking  voice. 

In  the  process  of  developing  the  subject  by  a 
farther  and  more  practical  treatment,  it  will  be 
shown  how  this  vital  element  of  speech-sound,  in 
all  its  forms  and  modifications,  is  but  the  natural 
outcome  or  result  of  the  laws  governing  the  mech- 
anism of  the  vocal  apparatus,  as  well  as  of  those 
controlling  the  relations  existing  between  vocal 
sounds  and  corresponding  mental  conditions ;  and 
that  its  intelligent  exercise  and  application  in  the 
cultivation  of  the  voice  and  ear,  will  place  within 
the  student's  reach  those  processes  of  art  by  which 
he  may  reproduce  all  the  seemingly  subtle  effects 
of  natural  speech.  Dr.  Rush  has  clearly  demon- 
strated, in  his  illumination  of  the  subject,  how,  by 
an  imitated  execution,  in  the  processes  of  vocal 
training  on  elements  and  syllables,  of  the  vital 
constituents  of  expression  in  the  human  voice  (in- 
cluded in  the  several  stresses,  the  equable  concrete, 
and  the  various  degrees  of  concrete  and  discrete 
pitch),  an  intelligent  mastery  is  to  be  obtained  over 
all  the  powers,  graces,  and  discriminations  of  force, 
quantity,  and  quality  of  which  language  is  capable, 
and  which  mark  its  emphatic  or  significant  uses 
in  intelligent  or  expressive  language. 

After  having  discovered  all  these  attributes  of 
the  voice  in  speech.  Dr.  Rush  succeeded  in  record- 
ing a  description  and  explanation  of  them   by  em- 


76  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

ploying  a  definite  and  intelligible  nomenclature,  and 
also  a  simple  form  of  visible  notation.  Many  ob- 
jections have  been  made  to  the  former,  on  the  as- 
sumed ground  that  it  involves  the  subject  in  too 
many  technicalities  and  complexities,  while  the  lat- 
ter has  been  condemned,  in  cases  of  misapprehen- 
sion of  its  real  intent  and  purpose,  as  calculated 
to  create  an  artificial  or  mechanical  manner  in  read- 
ing or  speaking,  by  applying  the  line  and  rule  of 
measurement  to  what  should  be  an  apparently  spon- 
taneous exhibition  of  natural  effects.  Let  us  con- 
sider the  subject  in  its  true  bearings.  The  want 
of  clear  and  precise  ideas,  as  affixed  to  the  terms 
used  in  scientifically  treating  any  subject,  must  al- 
ways be  the  source  of  much  error.  The  remedy 
can  only  lie  in  employing  terms  that  will  convey 
definite  perceptions  to  the  mind,  by  the  aid  of 
which  it  may  reflect  upon  the  principles  that  are 
presented  to  its  consideration,  and  discriminate  as 
to  their  truthful  application. 

In  the  record  and  treatment,  then,  of  every  art  or 
science,  there  is  a  necessity  for  adopting  a  language 
of  unchangeable  meaning,  by  which  its  principles 
may  be  definitely  explained  and  communicated,  and 
thus  placed  beyond  the  possibility  of  any  perver- 
sion through  misapprehension  or  individual  caprice. 

Rush  fully  realized  this  necessity  in  the  scientific 
handling  of  a  subject,  and  acted  upon  it  in  under- 
taking his  exposition  of  the  speaking  voice.  Until 
his  time  this  precision  of  terms  had  not  existed  in 
the  treatment  of  elocution ;  for  the  knowledge  of 
the    vocal    attributes    being   in    itself  indefinite,    the 


Dr.  Ja7nes  Rush.  jy 

descriptive  nomenclature  could  not  be  otherwise. 
Hence,  the  loose  and  figurative  employment  of 
terms,  both  in  writing  upon  and  in  teaching  this 
subject. 

Take  the  generalistic  terms,  "fervent  expression," 
"modulation,"  "tone  of  feeling,"  etc.  In  seeking 
to  employ  them  to  direct  a  definite  effect,  the  con- 
sequence too  often  is  that,  owing  to  their  inde- 
terminate and  figurative  character,  and  their  conse- 
quent confusion  or  looseness  of  acceptance,  a  gen- 
eral and  unsatisfactory  result  alone  can  follow. 
"We  seem  not  to  be  aware,"  says  Rush,  "that 
no  describable  perceptions  are  associated  with  such 
terms  until  required  to  illustrate  them  by  some 
definite  discriminations  of  vocal  sounds."  In  this 
connection,  he  adds  that,  ' '  upon  taking  up  the 
subject,  the  words  quick,  slow,  long,  short,  rise,  fall, 
and  turn,  indefinite  as  they  are,  included  nearly  all 
the  discriminative  tcTins  of  elocution,"  and  so  truly 
adds  that,  "the  studious  inquirer  has  long  wanted 
a  language  for  the  meaning  of  the  voice  he  has  al- 
ways felt/'  "The  fullness  of  nomenclature  in  an 
art,"  says  Rush,  "is  directly  proportioned  to  the 
degree  of  its  improvement,  and  the  accuracy  of  its 
terms  insures  the  precision  of  its  systematic  rules. 
The  few  and  indeterminate  designations  of  the 
modes  of  the  voice  in  reading,  compared  with  the 
number  and  accuracy  of  the  terms  in  music,  imply 
the  different  manner  in  which  each  has  been  culti- 
vated." 

His  idea,  therefore,  in  adopting  a  more  accurate 
nomenclature,   was    to   describe    the    vocal  constitu- 


j^  A  Plea  fo7'-  Spoken  Language. 

ents  of  speech,  and  the  principles  of  their  appUca- 
tion,  with  a  precision  that  might  enable  instruc- 
tion to  be  systematic,  and  as  definite  in  this  as  in 
many  other  branches  of  science.  This  object  he 
accomplished  by  adopting  those  terms  from  the 
kindred  science  of  music  that  are  applicable  to  sim- 
ilar phenomena  in  speech,  and  the  uses  of  which 
have  long  been  fixed  with  scientific  exactness,  and 
are,  therefore,  free  from  all  ambiguity ;  but  rejecting, 
entirely,  sitch  nmsical  terms  as  suggest,  in  their  appli- 
cation to  speech,  only  a  vague  analogy  to  the  functions 
they  describe  in  music.  Also,  by  adding  terms  of 
his  own  invention  to  these,  to  describe  such  vocal 
phenomena,  or  their  modifications,  as  could  not  be 
designated  with  precision  by  any  already  in  exist- 
ence;  for,  as  he  very  justly  remarks,  "when  un- 
named additions  are  made  to  the  system  and  detail 
of  an  art,  terms  must  be  invented  for  them,  and 
even  when  its  known  phenomena  are  exhibited  un- 
der varied  relationships,  the  purpose  of  description 
is  less  perplexed  by  the  novelty  of  terms  than  by 
an  attempt  to  give  another  application  or  meaning 
to  former  names."  Such  scientific  precision  in 
treating  the  subject,  certainly  does  not  imply  com- 
plication nor  unnecessary  elaboration,  except  to 
those  who  expect  to  purchase  a  knowledge  of  the 
principles  of  elocution  through  means  and  methods 
different  from  those  employed  in  any  other  art  to 
whose  requirements  they  must  conform. 


Chapter  VII. 

Rush's  Sysh'vi  of  Notatio}i. 

Now  to  consider  Dr.  Rush's  use  of  a  visible  no- 
tation to  indicate  the  movements  of  the  voice  in 
speech.  The  necessity  for  a  set  of  graphic  sym- 
bols to  serve  as  a  guide  for  the  reproduction  of 
the  intonations  of  the  speaking  voice  had  long  been 
felt,  since  the  punctuative  points,  although  serving 
their  purpose  to  render  written  language  clear  and 
intelligible,  were  no  indication  of  the  vocal  proper- 
ties of  syllables,  words,  phrases,  and  clauses,  as 
employed  in  spoken  language.  Walker,  in  attempt- 
ing to  create  such  a  visible  notation,  borrowed  the 
acute,  grave,  and  circumflex  accents  from  the  an- 
cients. 

But  these  borrowed  symbols  served  only,  as  we 
have  seen,  to  indicate  the  general  direction  of  a 
few  undefined  movements  of  vocality  ;  and,  in  the 
words  of  Rush,  were  ' '  but  vague  and  meager  rep- 
resentations of  the  rich  and  measurable  variety  of 
the  voice."  Mr.  Wright  went  a  step  farther  than 
Walker,  and  made  use  of  the  musical  staff,  with 
certain  symbols,  for  the  purpose  of  measuring  the 
positive  extent  of  accentual  and  emphatic  slides, 
and    gave    a    number    of   obscure    hints  concerning 

(79) 


8o  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

the  movements  of  the  voice  through  various  degrees 
of  pitch ;  but  he,  in  common  with  Walker,  failed 
to  distinguish  the  syllabic  inovcvicnts  of  pitch  (the 
sHde  having  been  regarded,  as  we  have  seen,  by 
both  these  writers  as  the  .attribute  of  whole  words 
instead  of  syllables),  and  was  also  unsuccessful  in 
his  attempt  to  accomplish  a  definite  notation,  of 
speech. 

Steele's  system  of  visible  notation  of  speech  in- 
tonation was,  however,  in  many  respects,  very  sat- 
isfactory, as  were  also  his  symbols  marking  the 
rhythmical  progression  of  language,  both  proving 
beyond  question  the  value  of  the  graphic  art  in  its 
relation  to  speaking  sounds. 

Having  discovered  the  measurable  degree  of  in- 
tonation, as  applied  to  the  simple  and  familiar  dia- 
tonic scale,  it  was  not  a  difficult  matter  for  Dr.  Rush 
to  develop  the  idea  of  graphic  symbols  by  adopt- 
ing a  form  of  notation  for  spoken  language,  to  mark 
these  varied  degrees  of  pitch,  similar  to  that  so 
successfully  employed  in  music,  but  with  certain 
necessary  modifications  to  adapt  it  to  the  peculiar 
characteristics  of  the  former. 

In  notating  music,  a  simple  dot  or  circle  is  placed 
upon  each  degree  of  the  staff  of  lines  and  spaces ; 
but,  in  order  to  express  in  its  form  the  peculiarity 
of  the  upward  and  downward  character,  or  concrete 
pitch  of  the  syllabic  slide,  in  contradistinction  to 
the  level  line  of  pitch  in  the  musical  note, —  Rush 
employed  a  symbol  to  represent  it,  which,  com- 
mencing on  one  degree  of  the  staff  is  continued  to 
another,   either  in  an  upward  or  a  downward  direc- 


Rus/is  System  of  Notation.  8t 

tion,  or  in  both  combined,  indicating  the  wave ; 
these  notes  of  speech,  in  their  successions  on  the  staff, 
marking  the  melody. 

His  notation  is  thus  intended  to  describe  only 
the  intonations  of  the  voice,  or  its  progress  through 
the  concrete  and  discrete  intervals  of  pitch.  The 
attributes  of  quality  and  time,  he  does  not  attempt 
to  express  by  symbols,  leaving  their  proportion 
and  kind  to  be  described  by  his  clear  descriptive 
nomenclature.  As  regards  force,  however,  he  fur- 
nishes some  symbols  of  the  stressed  concrete  which 
are  of  much  value  as  aids  to  the  ear  through  the 
eye.  By  means  of  this  simple  notation,  the  student 
has  afforded  him  the  tangible  instrumentalities  by 
which  the  measurements  of  the  vocal  concrete  are 
rendered  appreciable  to  the  eye,  and  therefore  ca- 
pable of  serving  as  a  guide  to  their  exact  repro- 
duction by  the  voice,  both  singly  and  in  their  suc- 
cessions in  melody.* 

Although  this  author's  notation  by  no  means 
represents  a  perfected  system,  such  as  we  find  in 
music,  it  is  complete  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  quite 
adequate  to  the  purposes  it  was  designed  to  serve. 

In  many  cases  the  connection  of  speech  symbols 
with  the  study  of  speech  has  presented  a  twofold 
difficulty,  —  one,  however,  greatly  exaggerated.  In 
the  first  place,  many  students  of  elocution  have  no 


*  Illustrations  of  the  notation  employed  by  Dr.  Rush  do  not 
come  within  the  scope  of  the  present  volume.  In  my  practical 
^^•ork,  which  follows,  it  is  fully  illustrated  and  described  in  detail 
in  its  practical  application  to  the  study  of  the  sounds  of  the 
voice. 


82  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

particular  knowledge  of  music  or  taste  for  it  as  a 
study,  and  therefore  can  not  see  its  value  as  an 
aid  to  an  understanding  of  the  art  of  expressive 
speech.  On  the  other  hand,  many,  and  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  the  greater  number,  consider  the 
IcttcJ'  of  the  work  only,  and  thus  look  upon  the 
notation  as  arbitrarily  restricting  the  movements  of 
the  voice  to  the  precision  of  a  musical  execution, 
thereby  confining  the  reader  and  speaker  to  the 
strict  observance  of  an  unalterable  melodic  progres- 
sion of  sound,  and  hence  liable  to  induce  a  mechan- 
ical style  of  utterance. 

To  the  first  it  may  be  replied  that  in  order  to 
understand  the  kinship  existing  between  the  art  of 
speech  and  that  of  music,  an  extended  knowledge 
of  the  latter  is  not  necessary. 

An  understanding  of  its  most  rudimentary  prin- 
ciples, and  a  general  apprehension  of  its  scope  as  a 
science,  is  amply  sufficient,  since  its  niceties  and 
exactitudes  of  execution  are  not  involved  in  the 
application  of  the  same  principles  to  speech  ;  and, 
as  regards  the  latter  difficulty  mentioned,  it  should 
be  expressly  understood  that  the  object  of  Dr.  Rush 
is  not  to  set  notations  to  be  arbitrarily  followed  in 
reading  any  prescribed  matter,  but  to  present  a 
system  of  visible  marks,  by  which  the  learner,  as 
a  process  of  discipline,  may  be  able  to  note  or 
follow  the  progressive  syllabic  steps  of  the  voice, 
as  it  moves  through  the  utterance  of  a  group  of 
words  or  sentences  on  the  speaking  scale.  Thus 
the  student  is  enabled  to  repeat  the  movements,  by 
following   the    indications  of  the  symbols,    as  often 


Rus/is  System  of  Notation.  83 

as  lie  desires,  luitil  Jic  is  Piaster  of  the  principles  in- 
volved. 

The  notation  of  song  is  made  by  a  musical  com- 
poser, and  is  to  be  strictly  followed  by  the  singer  ; 
therefore,  all  singers  will  follow  the  same  intona- 
tions in  the  execution  of  the  same  composition. 
With  the  reader  it  is  different.  The  notation,  in 
his  case,  serves  its  purpose,  first,  by  suggesting 
appropriate  modes  of  expression,  as  to  the  feature 
of  intonation ;  and,  secofidly,  by  giving  him  com- 
mand, through  the  practice  it  affords,  over  the  dif- 
ferent vocal  movements  it  indicates.  Having,  then, 
by  means  of  the  latter,  brought  the  various  effects 
of  pitch  and  other  modifications  of  sound  repre- 
sented in  the  prescribed  notation  under  the  con- 
trol of  the  mental  faculties  and  the  vocal  organs, 
he  possesses  the  means  wherewith  to  apply  the 
knowledge  and  skill  thus  acquired  to  the  creation 
of  his  own  melody,  according  as  his  own  judgment, 
taste,  or  fancy  shall  dictate.  Thus,  although  the 
movements  of  pitch,  indicated  by  the  speech  nota- 
tion, are  susceptible  of  almost  the  same  exactitude 
in  their  execution  as  those  of  song ;  and  although 
it  is  desirable  to  observe  this  precision  in  elemen- 
tary practice,  still,  in  the  final  execution  of  the 
speech  melody,  it  is  not  to  be  aimed  at,  since  the 
visibje  marks,  after  having  served  their  ends  in  the 
processes  of  disciplining  and  cultivating  the  voice 
and  ear,  are  suggestive  and  relative,  rather  than 
positive  and  absolute,  serving  as  a  general  outline 
of  direction  and  proportion. 

The  notations  of  Rush  are  not  calculated  to  make 


84  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

a  reader  adopt  a  method  of  dealing  with  language 
by  which  his  own  tastes  and  conceptions  are  set 
aside  or  rendered  inoperative.  The  principles  which 
the  notations  illustrate  are  positive,  but  the  nota- 
tion itself  only  suggestive  of  the  means  of  attaining 
the  desired  end  of  natural  effect  in  the  utterance 
of  premeditated  language. 

Perception  and  perseverance  will,  in  time,  give 
the  student  command  over  all  the  natural  forms  of 
vocality.  His  ear,  cultivated  to  an  appreciation  of 
sounds  it  had  not  observed  before,  will  become  his 
only  preceptor ;  and  his  tongue,  from  habit  and 
practice,  will  move  in  subjection  to  his  will  when, 
from  the  mere  observer,  he  has  become  the  disci- 
ple of  nature. 

One  of  the  greatest  advantages  of  this  whole 
system  of  notation  and  nomenclature,  lies  in  the 
fact  that  the  teacher,  by  its  means,  is  enabled  to 
impart  to  the  mind  of  the  pupil  a  distinct  picture, 
as  it  were,  of  the  processes  employed  in  producing 
certain  effects,  thus  making  him  familiar,  in  the  ini- 
tiatory steps  of  his  studies,  with  those  principles 
so  necessary  to  an  intelligent  progress  in  the  more 
advanced  stages  of  instruction. 

The  lack  of  such  an  aid,  universally  accepted, 
has  long  been  a  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of 
earnest  and  intelligent  teachers.  Oftentimes  the 
pupil,  after  having  been  drilled  into  something  like 
a  successful  imitation  of  the  teacher's  reading  of  a 
given  passage,  produces,  perhaps  on  his  own  part, 
an  effect  that  discovers  some  vital  point  of  expres- 
sion,   natural    and    appropriate,    but    which    had  not 


RusJi  s  System  of  Notatio7i.  85 

been  either  in  the  teacher's  own  mind  or  voice,  and 
hence  not  aimed  at  in  his  instructions.  "Right!" 
he  cries  in  approbation ;  but,  in  striving  to  produce 
the  same  point  of  effect  in  the  dehvery  of  another 
pupil,  he  finds  himself  at  a  loss  for  definite  means 
by  which  to  direct  the  latter  in  its  reproduction. 
The  successful  performer  is  then  called  up  to  illus- 
trate, by  a  repetition  of  his  first  reading.  But, 
alas !  the  feeling  which  brought  out  the  latent 
beauty  has  fled,  and  with  it  all  ability  to  repeat 
the  same  form  of  expression.  The  teacher  having 
no  means  to  record  or  define  it  by  a  language  of 
definite  and  unchangeable  significance,  the  expres- 
sive effect  and  the  principle  it  illustrates  are  lost 
both  to  himself  and  his  class.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  well  disciplined  student  of  Rush  would  not 
only  be  able  to  note  all  such  expressive  utterances 
upon  paper  or  the  blackboard,  and  then  explain 
them  to  his  class  with  the  additional  aid  of  well 
understood  terms,  but  would  also  be  able  to  pre- 
serve   them  as  matters  for  study  and  reflection. 

That  the  system  of  Mr.  Walker,  popular  as  it 
was  in  England  and  in  this  country,  for  many 
years,  did  not,  according  to  the  author's  own  ac- 
knowledgment, succeed  in  making  good  readers  and 
speakers,  is  largely  attributable  to  the  failure  of  his 
visible  notation  to  indicate  the  vocal  effects  it  was 
designed  to  illustrate ;  for  his  symbols,  not  being 
definite,  but  only  general  indications  of  upward  and 
downward  slides  of  no  describable  extent,  were  lia- 
ble, in  their  use,  to  create  other  results  than  those 
desired  by  the  student  or  intended  by  the  author. 


86  A  Pica  for  Spoken  Language. 

In  a  grammatical  point  of  view,  Mr.  Walker's 
notations  are  clear  and  intelligible,  and  can  still  he 
used  with  the  modifications  imparted  to  them,  or 
rather  the  light  shed  upon  them,  by  a  knowledge 
of  the  measurable  degrees  of  intonation  described 
by  Dr.  Rush,  and  applied  to  the  management  of 
the  voice  at  minor  pauses  ancj  periods. 

However  the  fiixed  habits  of  study,  therefore, 
may  incline  him  to  the  system  of  Mr.  Walker,  the 
intelligent  elocutionist  or  student  can  not  but  be- 
come interested  in  a  study  of  these  principles,  upon 
learning  that,  through  a  knowledge  of  the  character 
or  philosophy  of  the  concrete  and  discrete  functions 
of  vocality,  the  method  of  Walker's  inflections  will 
become  at  once  more  intelligible,  and  more  prac- 
tical. 

Many  who  have  condemned  the  system  of  speech 
notations  and  descriptive  nomenclature  of  Dr.  Rush, 
have  proceeded  upon  the  assumption  that  the  va- 
riations of  syllabic  pitch,  and  other  modifications 
of  the  syllabic  utterance,  can  not  be  appreciated  by 
the  common  ear,  and  therefore  are  not  susceptible 
of  measurement.  Of  course,  to  deny  the  possibil- 
ity of  measuring  the  speech  sounds,  and  of  perceiv- 
ing their  other  modifications,  is  logically  to  preclude 
any  possible  means  of  visibly  representing  or  tech- 
nically describing  such  phenomena.  Indeed,  we 
have  just  noted  this  as  the  reason  that  the  English 
writers  failed  to  accomplish  any  thing  definite  in 
the  way  of  notation  and  nomenclature  —  because 
of  their  indeterminate  knowledge  of  the  vocal  at- 
tributes they  were  designed  to  symbolize. 


Rjis/ls  System  of  Notatioit.  %'] 

Objections  upon  this  ground  can  only  be  made, 
however,  by  those  who  have  not  tested  the  meas- 
urable character  of  speech  tones  by  actual  obser- 
vation, experiment,  and  experience ;  or,  by  those 
who  have  formed  their  opinion  as  a  foregone  con- 
clusion, based  upon  the  established  prejudices  or 
popular  errors  concerning  the  impossibility  of  ar- 
riving at  any  definite  knowledge  of  the  movements 
of  the  speaking  voice,  and  who  will  not,  therefore, 
give  Rush's  treatment  of  this  subject  that  fair, 
practical  investigation  which  could  not  fail  to  lead 
them  to  a  conviction  of  the  truth  of  his  principles. 
An  eminent  actor  and  elocutionist,  after  attempt- 
ing to  read  a  few  passages  for  me,  notated  after 
the  manner  of  Dr.  Rush  with  regard  to  the  differ- 
ent movements  of  syllabic  pitch,  exclaimed,  '  *  Dr. 
Rush  must  have  been  a  fool  to  think  that  any 
one  could  be  aided  in  the  study  of  reading  by 
any  such  perverted  use  of  the  musical  staff  and  its 
note  signs!"  The  secret  of  the  matter  being  that 
he  saw  something  that  w^as  unintelligible  or  mean- 
ingless to  him  simply  because  •  he  had  not  taken 
the  trouble  to  understand  it.  To  realize  the 
strength  of  that  prejudice,  arising  from  the  lack  of 
a  true  insight  into  this  matter,  we  have  but  to  re- 
flect that  reading  itself  was  looked  upon,  in  its  in- 
fancy, as  a  supernatural  gift,  the  illiterate  having 
no  conception  of  words  independent  of  sound,  not 
being  able  or  willing  to  comprehend  that  language 
could  be  represented  to  the  eye  by  means  of  writ- 
ten symbols  or  letters, —  the  few  who  were  masters 
of  the  art  beinsf  even  regarded  as  magficians. 


88  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

What  should  we  think  of  the  opinion  of  a  per- 
son if,  simply  because  he  lacked  a  knowledge  of 
musical  notation,  he  should  condemn  it  as  unintel- 
ligible or  absurd ;  or  of  the  man  who,  not  having 
a  natural  or  cultivated  ear  for  musical  sounds  and 
their  appreciable  qualities  and  measurement,  should 
deny  that  they  possessed  any  such  attributes.  And 
yet,  such  is  exactly  the  logical — or  rather,  illogical — 
attitude  in  which  those  persons  place  themselves 
who  deny  that  speech-sounds  are  capable  of  meas- 
urement in  pitch  and  its  visible  representation,  or 
of  analysis  as  to  other  properties,  without  having 
brought  the  powers  of  their  intellect  and  of  their 
sense  of  hearing  to  test  the  matter  by  experiment. 
I  fully  realize  the  fact  that  it  is  no  easy  matter  for 
the  ear  to  intelligently  follow  these  vocal  move- 
ments, without  the  most  close  and  careful  habits 
of  observation  and  analysis ;  for  we  are  so  accus- 
tomed to  accept  the  significance  of  these  sounds, 
which  we  never  fail  to  recognize,  that  the  very 
familiarity  of  the  phenomena  renders  us  unobserv- 
ant of  its  exact  character  or  producing  cause.  One 
unconsciously,  however,  takes  the  form  and  meas- 
urement of  vocal  sounds  by  this  recognition  of 
their  significance  ;  and  all  that  is  needed  is  to  direct 
the  mind  to  the  conscious  observation  of  the  same 
phenomena.  Rush  did  not  attempt  to  analyze  these 
movements  in  tJicir  rapid  fligJ it  through  speech,  but 
by  slow  and  patient  observation  of  individiial  utter- 
ances;  and  it  is  only  through  such  gradual  means 
that  the  student  can  hope  to  obtain  a  disciplined 
knowledge  of  their  properties  which  will  guide  him 


R7(sk's  System  of  Notation.  89 

to  their  correct  recognition  in  the  varied  combina- 
tions of  language.  Dr.  Rush,  in  commenting  upon 
this  point,    says : 

"The  inscrutable  character,  as  it  is  affirmed,  and  the  fan- 
cied infinity  of  the  vocal  movements,  together  with  the  rapid 
course  and  variation  of  utterance,  are  considered  as  insuper- 
able obstacles  to  a  precise  description  of  the  detail  and  sys- 
tem of  the  speaking  voice.  We  may  here  ask  if  there  is  no 
other  opportunity  to  count  the  radii  of  a  wheel,  but  in  the 
race,  or  to  number  and  describe  the  individuals  of  a  herd, 
except  in  the  promiscuous  mingling  of  their  flight?  Music, 
with  its  infinitude  of  detail,  must  still  have  been  a  mystery, 
could  the  knowledge  of  its  intervals  and  of  its  time  have 
been  caught  up  only  from  the  multiplied  combinations  and 
rapid  execution  of  the  orchestra.  The  accuracy  of  mathemat- 
ical calculation,  joined  with  the  sober  patience  of  the  ear 
over  a  deliberate  practice  in  its  constituents,  has  not  had 
more  success  in  disclosing  the  system  of  this  beautiful  and 
luminous  science,  than  a  similar  watchfulness  over  the  de- 
liberate movements  of  speech  will  afford  for  designating  its 
hitherto  unrecorded  phenomena." 

Steele  says:  "Language  is  an  art  that  we  learn  (to  speak 
in  a  vulgar  phrase)  very  naturally;  that  is,  by  rote.  Many 
people  learn  music  nearly  in  the  same  manner,  especially 
singing;  and  both  those  who  talk  by  rote,  and  those  who 
sing  by  rote,  are  often  proficient  in  practice,  without  knowing 
that  those  arts  are  capable  of  rules  and  of  very  subtle  analy- 
zation,  any  more  than  a  child  of  five  years  old  comprehends 
or  can  explain  how  he  stands  or  walks." 

In  addition  to  gradual  and  deliberate  processes 
of  study  in  the  beginning,  the  constant  habit  of 
watching  the  movements  of  the  voice  in  its  impulses 
and  drifts  under  entirely  natural  and  unpremeditated 
excitement,  as  well  as  its  more  studied  effects  in 
the  exercise  of  professional   functions,   has  brought 

p.  S.  L.--8. 


90  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

me  the  conviction  that  the  most  minute  vocal 
movements  of  speech  can  not  only  be  measured 
and  described,  but  that  the  truth  of  this  has  been 
clearly  demonstrated  in  "The  Philosophy  of  the 
Voice." 

Elocution  may,  then,  be  taught  with  results,  if 
not  as  certain  as  those  of  an  exact  science,  at  least 
with  such  approximate  results  to  certainty  as  are 
necessary  for  its  development  as  a  fine  art.  To 
use  the  words  of  Dr.  Rush : 

"It  may  be  remarked,  in  anticipation  of  what  may  be 
shown  hereafter,  that  the  art  of  speech,  in  three  of  its  im- 
portant modes;  namely,  time,  with  its  measurable  move- 
ments; intonation,  with  its  measurable  intervals;  ?iXiA  force, 
with  its  measurable  degrees, — though  not  admissable  within 
the  pale  of  exact  calculation,  is  yet  upon  its  border,  and 
when,  through  future  cultivation,  it  shall  take  its  destined 
place  among  the  liberal  arts,  it  will  be  found  at  least  beside 
architecture  and  music, — those  beautiful  associations  of  taste 
with  mathematical  truth, — if,  indeed,  from  its  principles  of  in- 
tonation being  broadly  and  strictly  founded  in  nature,  it  may 
not  claim  to  be  before  them." 


Chapter  VIII. 

Rtis/is  Sys/cin. —  Continued. 

I  HAVE  spoken  thus  at  length  upon  this  matter 
of  Rush's  notation  and  nomenclature,  and  the  end 
the  author  designed  them  to  serve,  as  aids  to  elo- 
cutionary instruction,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  so 
many  have  stumbled  upon  the  mere  letter  of  the 
work,  and  have  thus  failed  to  grasp  its  true  and 
liberal  spirit. 

From  the  discipline  of  the  organs  of  speech,  which 
is  a  necessary  result  of  working  with  nature,  to- 
gether with  the  sympathetic  effects  of  discrimination 
and  taste,  the  student  of  elocution  can  not  but  ob- 
tain from  a  study  of  this  system  advantages  of  the 
highest  importance  in  his  art. 

Before  concluding  these  introductory  remarks 
upon  the  subject  of  Dr.  Rush's  work,  I  would  have 
it  clearly  understood  that  it  is  not  claimed  that  he 
has  demonstrated  the  art  of  speech  to  be  capable 
of  the  same  perfection  of  results,  or  rather  the 
same  unvarying  precision  of  effects,  that  we  find 
in  music. 

For,  as  Rush  himself  has  said,  ' '  The  full  devel- 
opment of  an  art,  in  all  its  practical  bearings,  can 
be  effected  only  by  the  united  labor  of  many,   and 

of  their  lives." 

(91) 


92  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

So  general  and  so  deep-seated  was  the  convic- 
tion, at  the  time  of  Dr.  Rush's  first  pubHcation,  of 
the  impossibiHty  of  detecting  and  recording  in  de- 
tail the  various  modifications  of  the  tones  of  speech, 
owing  to  their  brief  and  evanescent  character,  that 
the  publication  met  with  the  most  unfavorable  crit- 
icism, or,  perhaps,  one  might  more  properly  say, 
with  the  opposition  of  hasty  and  prejudiced  opin- 
ion, for  no  book,  probably,  ever  received,  upon  its 
first  entrance  before  the  public,  so  little  criticism, 
in  its  real  sense.  To  quote  Dr.  Rush's  own  witty 
resume  of  the  opinions  of  some  of  the  early  critics 
(?)  of  his  work : 

"One  says  it  is  a  sealed  book;  another,  that  it  might  as 
well  have  been  written  in  Hebrew;  an  eminent  leader  of 
opinion  on  this  side  of  the  water  says  it  is  not  worth  review- 
ing; while,  on  the  other  side,  one  of  the  very  highest  rank 
in  British  periodical  criticism,  declares,  in  the  frank  confes- 
sion of  an  ineffable  superiority,  that  it  quite  surpasses  his  com- 
prehension. One,  not  contented  with  his  own  single  incom- 
petence, takes  the  author  into  his  company  by  saying  that 
he  does  not  understand  it  himself;  while,  to  a  high-placed 
medical  proferssor,  the  work  was  altogether  so  unintelligible 
that  he  recommended  one  of  his  friends  to  read  it,  as  a  fine 
example  of  'the  incoherent  language  of  insanity.'" 

I  mention  these  circumstances  of  the  early  recep- 
tion of  the  book,  merely,  as  Rush  himself  states, 
after  giving  the  above  summary,  —  "as  minor  chron- 
icles, collateral  to  the  early  history  of  the  philos- 
ophy of  speech,"  and  to  show  that  the  history  of 
Dr.  Rush's  discoveries  forms  no  exception  to  those 
of  many  other  benefactors  of  mankind,  whose  labors 
have    been    undertaken    in  the   cause  of  truth,   and 


Rusk's  System.  —  Continued.  93 

for  truth's  sake  only.  How  many  facts  of  science, 
now  established  without  cavil  or  controversy,  and  on 
which  much  of  popular  knowledge  depends,  —  how 
much  of  the  present  scientific  information  (which 
marks  the  advancement  of  the  age)  would  have  re- 
mained neglected  if  the  superficial  verdict  as  to  its 
value  or  availability,  had  been  necessary  to  secure 
its  recognition  and  adoption  ?  When  difficulty  ap- 
pears in  the  way  of  a  ready  understanding  of  a 
subject  not  under  popular  acceptance,  there  is  al- 
ways a  disposition  to  consider  such  a  matter  as 
either  visionary  or  at  least  not  available  for  the  pur- 
pose of  general  utility.  With  regard  to  the  ' '  Philos- 
ophy of  the  Voice,"  it  is,  and,  from  the  nature  of 
the  subject,  necessarily  must  be,  a  work  which  re- 
quires not  only  intellect,  but  patient  application 
and  observation,  to  comprehend  its  details ;  and, 
where  these  have  been  given,  it  has  always  resulted 
in  acknowledgments  of  its  superior  value.  It  is 
now  more  than  fifty  years  since  the  first  publica- 
tion of  the  work,  and  it  is  with  pleasure  I  testify 
to  the  liberal  and  progressive  spirit  of  the  time 
by  stating  the  fact  that  a  very  different  opinion 
now  prevails  with  regard  to  its  merits  as  a  contri- 
bution to  the  scientific  study  of  spoken  language. 
The  French  have  sufficiently  considered  and  appre- 
ciated the  work  to  call  forth  an  indorsement  of  its 
merits,  —  the  record  of  the  French  Academy  of  Sci- 
ences bearing  honorable  witness  to  the  author's 
exposition  of  the  vocal  organs,  and  their  peculiar 
functions  in  the  production  of  those  elevations  and 
depressions  of  the  voice,  technically  known  as  pitch. 


94  ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

Many  of  the  principles  of  Dr.  Rush's  system 
have  met  with  the  corroborations  of  later  science, 
both  from  the  stand-point  of  anatomy  and  acoustics, 
the  discoveries  in  both  these  branches  of  science 
made  by  Helmholtz,  Lunn,  and  others  simply  serv- 
ing to  confirm  the  correctness  of  Dr.  Rush's  vocal 
methods  in  the  production  of  sounds,  and  the  re- 
sults in  quality  or  kind. 

The  theory  for  a  special  vocal  culture  for  speech 
has  been  confirmed  by  Weiss,  the  German  writer 
on  the  voice  in  song  and  speech,  and  by  later 
writers  on  the  same  subject,  who  insist,  as  the 
former  expresses  it,  upon  the  necessity  of  "con- 
scious technical  effort,"  in  the  artistic  use  of  the 
voice  in  speech,   as  in  song. 

Dr.  Rush's  philosophy  of  the  relationships  be- 
tween certain  mental  causes  and  peculiar  vocal  ef- 
fects, as  exhibited  in  the  varieties  of  intonation, 
qualities  of  voice,  etc. ,  has  been  confirmed  by  no 
less  a  modern  scientific  light  than  Herbert  Spencer, 
who  explains  the  correspondences  between  mental 
and  vocal  phenomena  on  the  ground  of  the  direct 
relation  existing  between  mental  and  muscular  ex- 
citement. Still,  while  the  principles  of  ' '  The  Phi- 
losophy,"  are  thus  confirmed,  both  directly  and 
indirectly,  no  writer  of  any  nationality  has  given 
us  so  copious  and  complete  an  analysis  of  the  vo- 
cal functions  in  their  relations  to  the  expression 
of  speech. 

In  England,  several  popular  and  valuable  books 
on  delivery  bear  unmistakable  evidences  of  the  fact 
that  their  educators  have    not  only  read  the    "Phi- 


RusJi  s  System. —  Contimicd.  95 

losophy  of  the  Voice,"  but  have  adopted  many  of 
its  principles ;  and  a  recent  elocutionary  work,  of 
high  authority  with  the  English  public,  in  recom- 
mending the  works  of  most  value  on  the  subject 
of  elocution,   says: 

"I  would  name  particularly,  in  addition  to  the  authors  to 
whom  I  have  already  referred,  the  great  American  work, 
written  on  the  voice,  by  the  celebrated  physician  Dr.  Rush. 
It  is  well  worthy  perusal  by  those  who  wish  to  study  the 
subject  in  all  its  minuteness  of  detail." 

In  our  own  country,  this  work,  since  the  time 
of  its  publication,  has  furnished  material  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  elocutionary  books  and  systems 
subsequently  issued  ;  and  yet,  with  but  a  few  nota- 
ble exceptions,  the  greater  number  of  those  who 
have  undertaken  to  handle  the  principles  embodied 
in  the  original  work,  have  either  illiberally  inter- 
preted, or  imperfectly  understood  and  reproduced, 
them  in  their  various  manuals  of  elocution.  Many 
have  selected  only  the  elements  of  force  and  abrupt- 
ness, giving  them  an  undue  prominence,  to  the 
neglect  of  other  points  of  as  essential  value,  pro- 
ducing "barkers,"  as  some  of  the  ancient  orators 
have  termed  it,  instead  of  discriminating  and  ele- 
gant, as  well  as  forcible,    readers  and  speakers. 

Others  have  re-named  the  various  original  points, 
and  thus,  by  unnecessary  diversity  of  nomenclature 
for  one  and  the  same  idea,  have  created  confu- 
sion, resulting  in  an  obscuring  of  the  ideas  them- 
selves. 

Again,  not  a  few  have  chosen  to  interpret  Dr. 
Rush    according    to    their    own    conceptions    of   the 


g6  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

kind  and  value  of  his  principles,  and  their  practical 
relations  to  elocution,  rather  than  in  accordance 
with  the  author's  true  spirit  and  intent.  Such  have 
selected  only  those  points  of  his  system  as  came 
within  reach  of  easy  and  immediate  application  to 
their  own  purposes,  ignoring  or  rejecting  what  to 
them,  as  superficial  students  or  seekers  after  knowl- 
edge through  easy  ways,  appeared  to  be  hard  to 
understand,  and,  therefore,  too  difficult  for  the  de- 
mands of  teaching.  Valuable  features  of  the  sys- 
tem, thus  detached  from  the  modifying  influences 
of  the  remaining  parts  of  a  complete  whole,  have 
been,  in  many  instances,  misinterpreted  in  their 
application  or  exaggerated  in  their  functions.  I 
have  in  my  mind,  in  this  connection,  one  who.  for 
many  years,  occupied  a  prominent  position  in  the 
public  eye  as  lecturer  and  writer  on  elocution. 
While  using  the  Rush  system  in  many  of  its  more 
mechanical  details,  he  evidently  avoided  any  exposi- 
tion of  its  true  merits  with  regard  to  the  melody 
of  speech,  or  to  the  true  meaning  of  the  philoso- 
phy of  the  formulas  by  which  the  vocal  organs 
should  be  disciplined  in  order  to  bring  the  voice 
under  the  speaker's  control,  without  physical  injury, 
and  yet  to  accomplish  the  greatest  amount  of  vocal 
effort  and  endurance.  The  specialty  he  developed 
and  made  the  "feature"  of  his  teaching,  was  the 
special  and  voluntary  control  of  the  abdominal  mus- 
cles and  the  diaphragm.  This  I  give  but  as  an  il- 
lustration of  the  tendency  amongst  those  handling 
the  subject  of  elocution,  either  as  writers  or  teach- 
ers, to  give  prominence  to  some  peculiar  "method," 


Rush's  System. —  Continued.  97 

announcing  it  as  the  "only  open  sesame"  to  the 
treasures  of  vocal  culture  and  the  supposed  myster- 
ies of  natiirat  speech. 

I  do  not  make  these  statements  with  any  desire 
to  detract  from  whatever  good  work  has  been  done 
in  the  cause  of  elocution ;  but  I  desire  to  state 
facts  exactly  as  I  know  them  to  be  wuth  regard  to 
the  matter  in  question,  in  order  to  show  how,  from 
a  desultory  and  imperfect  or  unfair  manner  of  deal- 
ing with  a  work  of  minute  analysis  and  profound 
research,  its  broad  and  comprehensive  character  has 
not  been  thoroughly  understood,  nor  its  large  spirit, 
as  the  system  of  a  universal  nature,  thoroughly 
grasped,  by  the  public.  Such  facts  clearly  explain 
why  there  has  been,  thus  far,  no  wiifonn  etociition- 
ary  development  from  a  soiiree  wJucJl  bears  zvitJdn  it- 
self all  the  essential  elements  for  the  aecomplisJiment  of 
that  rcsidt,  and  why  there  is,  as  yet,  no  established 
artistic  statidard  of  excellence  and  taste  in  etocntionaiy 
study  and  execution,  which  ivonld  be  the  natiwal  out- 
come of  such  development. 


p.  s.  I, 


Chapter  IX. 

Receptioti  of  the  Rush  Systetn. 

Dr.  Rush  was  not  an  elocutionist,  but  I  feel  as- 
sured that,  had  the  pressure  of  professional  duties 
permitted  or  circumstances  compelled  him  to  be- 
come a  practical  teacher  of  his  system  of  principles, 
and  to  have  established  an  institute  for  the  expo- 
sition of  his  vocal  theories,  under  his  own  direction, 
his  philosophy  would  be  to-day  —  what  of  right  it 
ought  to  be  —  the  governing  power  in  the  study  of 
spoken  language  among  all  English  speaking  peo- 
ple, and  of  all  who  use  the  audible  forms  of  speech 
for  public  address. 

Dr.  Rush  always  regretted  the  absence  of  that 
unanimity  among  teachers  of  elocution,  with  regard 
to  the  vital  principles  of  their  art,  which  prevented 
their  formulating  one  general  plan  of  instruction, 
after  the  custom  prescribed  for  teaching  other 
branches  of  education.  When  the  book  first  ap- 
peared, the  doctor  was  at  particular  pains  to  interest 
teachers  of  elocution  in  its  reading  and  study.  He 
took  every  fitting  opportunity  of  explaining  any 
point  of  doubtful  meaning  to  which  his  attention 
was  called.  He  was  willing  and  ready  to  compare 
notes  with  those  who  mitrht  entertain  preferences 
(98) 


Reception  of  the  Rush  System.  99 

for  their  own  theories  or  practices.  He  never  ob- 
jected to  a  friendly  presentation  of  the  merits  of 
the  old  systems,  and  freely  entertained  whatever 
of  objection  might  be  raised  against  his  own  by 
those  who  showed  a  proper  spirit  of  discussion. 
To  controversies,  however,  he  objected  strongly, 
thinking  they  generally  ended  in  doing  harm,  rather 
than  in  promoting  the  good  of  the  subject. 

The  Doctor's  ideas  concerning  the  spirit  and  letter 
of  teaching  were  entirely  novel  and  original,  and 
not  at  all  suited  to  the  wants  of  public  schools, 
being  better  calculated  to  teach  students  and  teach- 
ers the  principles  which  should  underlie  the  forms  of 
instruction  they  were  to  create  and  use.  Until  one 
general  plan  could  be  determined  on,  made  up  of  the 
best  points  of  the  best  experiences,  to  be  blended 
into  one  great  whole  for  the  guidance  of  all,  ' '  The 
Philosophy  of  the  Voice "  was  to  be  an  exclusive 
text-book,  and  in  the  hands  only  of  the  tutors. 
The  blackboards  and  charts,  with  the  teachers'  vo- 
cal exemplifications,  were  to  be  the  means  of  in- 
struction until  the  elementary  studies  should  be 
completed. 

In  the  case  of  teaching  in  a  more  advanced  sense. 
Dr.  Rush  was  of  the  opinion  that  teachers  should 
work  out  the  proper  results  with  their  pupils,  in 
small  classes  or  singly,  by  means  of  practical  ex- 
positions of  the  governing  principles,  illustrated  in 
detail  by  special  examples,  not  requiring  the  pupil 
to  commit  rules  to  memory,  but  to  study  their 
meaning  and  try  to  apply  the  principles  to  senten- 
ces or  lines  dictated  by  the  teacher. 


lOO         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

Though  utterly  reckless  of  ignorant  and  preten- 
tious opposition,  Dr.  Rush  was  yet  generously 
frank  in  his  desire  to  receive  a  sympathetic  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  importance  of  his  work,  and 
the  assistance  of  all  those  who  could  bring  an  in- 
telligence, earnestness,  and  enthusiasm  adequate  to 
the  necessities  of  the  case.  Most  prominent  amongst 
the  few  who  succeeded  in  contributing  such  aid  to 
the  cause  was  Dr.  Jonathan  Barber,  a  member  of 
the  London  Royal  College  of  Surgeons.  He  had 
been  a  lecturer  on  the  subject  of  elocution,  in  con- 
formity with  the  laws  of  rhythmus  as  set  forth  in 
the  work  of  Sir  Joshua  Steele,  and  of  physiology, 
before  the  publication  of  ' '  The  Philosophy  of  the 
Voice."  Upon  reading  this  work,  he  was  so  struck 
with  the  truth  of  its  principles  that  he  gave  the 
subject  a  special  study,  and  was  the  first  to  ac- 
knowledge its  superiority,  both  theoretically  and 
practically,  over  all  other  works  on  the  subject  of 
the  voice  in  its  relation  to  speech. 

He  began  to  teach  the  new  system,  and  made 
so  favorable  an  impression  upon  the  educators  of 
the  period  that  he  was  afforded  the  opportunity  to 
introduce  his  elocutionary  training  into  some  of  the 
Eastern  colleges. 

Yale  College  was  early  favorable  to  the  system, 
but  the  Univ'Crsity  of  Cambridge,  by  appointing 
Dr.  Barber  to  its  department  of  elocution,  was  the 
first  chartered  institution  of  science  in  this  country 
that  gave  an  influential  and  responsible  approbation 
of  the  work. 

One  of  the  features  of  the  system  of  artistic  study 


Reception  of  the  Rush  System.         loi 

advocated  by  Dr.  Rush,  and  enforced  by  Dr.  Bar- 
ber in  his  teaching,  is  a  preparatory  training,  for 
the  purposes  of  discipHning  both  voice  and  ear,  on 
the  vocal  elements  of  language,  in  connection  with 
the  alphabetic  elements  and  their  syllabic  combina- 
tions. 

This  study  of  vocal  elements,  however^  in  the 
exercises  preparatory  to  more  advanced  studies  in 
declamation,  was  not  congenial  to  young  men  who 
thought  they  had  passed  beyond  the  alphabetic 
stage  of  their  language,  and,  by  its  seemingly  un- 
necessary enforcement,  created  opposition,  which 
finally  led  to  ridicule.  Dr.  Barber,  in  consequence, 
resigned  his  position,  and,  as  far  as  colleges  were 
concerned,  the  matter  fell  into  neglect.  It  was, 
however,  continued  in  some  quarters,  and  with  more 
or  less  success. 

The  following  letter  from  America's  popular  ora- 
tor, Wendell  Phillips,  is  in  itself  sufficient  comment 
upon  the  efficacy  and  value  of  Barber's  treatment 
of  the  Rush  principles,  and  their  appreciation  by 
those  who,  in  the  simplicity  of  true  greatness,  in- 
clined their  ear  to  what  they  recognized  as  the 
teachings  of  nature : 

"Boston,  Mass.,  March  23,  1878. 
" Mr.  James  E.  Murdoch: 

"My  Dear  Sir, — You  ask  me  to  tell  you  something  of  my 
acquaintance  with  Dr.  Barber,  the  elocutionist.  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  be  his  pupil,  at  Harvard  College,  in  a  class 
which  fully  appreciated  the  value  of  his  lessons  and  system. 
I  think  I  may  say  we  were  his  favorite  class.  W.  H.  Sim- 
mons, afterwards  teacher  of  elocution,  etc.,  at  Harvard  Col- 


LIBRARY 
IttflLVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNlj! 


I02         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Lang2iage. 

lege,  enthusiastically  devoted  to  training  his  rare  powers,* 
Motley,  who,  had  not  literature  drawn  from  public  speech, 
would  have  been  one  of  the  most  eloquent  and  finished  of 
American  speakers,  were  of  our  class,  and,  witti  a  dozen 
others,  were  deeply  interested  in  Dr.  Barber's  system.  It  is 
little  to  say  that  we  all  thought  it  the  best  ever  offered  to 
any  student.  Based  on  Rush,  the  Doctor's  system  was  at 
once  philosophically  sound  and  eminently  practical.  I  am 
sure  he  taught  me  all  I  was  e\'er  taught,  except  by  a  school- 
master [Withington],  whom  I  lost  at  ten  years  old.  What- 
ever I  have  ever  acquired  in  the  art  of  improving  and  man- 
aging my  voice  I  owe  to  Dr.  Barber's  system,  suggestions, 
and  lessons.  No  volume  or  treatise  on  the  voice,  except  those 
of  Rush  and  Barber,  has  ever  been  of  any  practical  value  to 
me.  The  Doctor's  reliance  on  principle,  and  comparative 
disuse  of  technical  rules,  seem  to  me  a  great  advantage  over 
all  the  other  systems  with  which  I  am  acquainted.  His 
teachings  tended  to  make  good  readers  and  speakers,  not 
readers  or  speakers  modeled  on  Barber.  It  brought  out  each 
pupil's  peculiar  character  of  utterance  and  expression,  without 
attempting  or  tending  to  cast  him  in  any  mold.  After 
leaving  Barber  a  pupil  had  no  mannerism  to  rid  himself  of 
before  he  got  full  possession  of  his  own  power.  Of  how  few 
teachers  can  this  be  said. 

"It  is  useless  to  waste  words  on  any  man  ignorant  of  the 
vast  power  of  agreeable  and  eloquent  speech  in  a  republic. 
You  can  in  no  way  contribute  more  to  its  cultivation  than  by 
doing  justice  to  Rush  and  Barber,  and  calling  attention  to  their 
system.  For  the  sake  of  the  public,  as  well  as  your  own,  I 
wish  you  the  largest  success  in  your  effort. 
"Very  cordially  yours, 

"Wendell  Phillips." 


*  Mr.  W.  H.  Simmons,  the  elocutionist,  was  ihe  favorite  S/ial-e- 
spercan  reader  oi  Boston.  He  showed  decided  talent  for  the  stage, 
and  made  a  successful  appearance  in  several  first-class  characters  ; 
but,  being  unwilling  to  submit  to  the  drudgery  of  stock  acting  as 
preparatory   to  a  permanent  success,  he  abandoned  the  profession. 

He  was  highly  educated,  and  a  most  agreeable  person  in  soci- 
ety.     The  most  intellectual  people  of  Boston  were  his   auditors, 


Reception  of  the  Rush  System.         103 

The  quoted  letter  from  Mr.  Phillips  was  written 
in  reply  to  a  request  I  had  made  of  him  for  in- 
formation concerning  the  peculiar  treatment  Dr. 
Barber  had  received  from  the  students,  and  which 
had  compelled  him,  from  a  sense  of  self-respect,  to 
abruptly  resign  his  position  as  professor  of  elocu- 
tion at  Harvard  College.  Mr.  Phillips  told  me  that 
his  class  was  the  only  one  which  did  not  show  a 
disposition  to  ridicule  the  Doctor's  mode  of  con- 
ducting his  exercises  in  speaking  and  gesture.  It 
would  have  been  well  for  the  cause  of  what  De- 
mosthenes considered  the  all  in  all  of  oratory, —  its 
"action," — had  the  faculty  and  the  students  of 
Harvard  been  better  disposed  towards  a  study,  the 
practice  of  which  would  have  given  the  country  a 
few  more  such  orators  as  Wendell  Phillips. 

The  following  just  tribute  to  the  worth  of  Dr. 
Rush's  work,  speaks  for  itself 

Mr.  Wm.  Russell,  that  eminent  educator  who 
did  so  much  to  elevate  the  standard  of  education 
in  New  England,  says,  in  speaking  of  Rush's  ' '  Phi- 
losophy " : 

"Had  its  author  lived  in  those  thiies  when  eloquence  was 
cherished  as  an  attainment  almost  divine,  and  they  who  con- 
tributed to  facilitate  its  acquisition  were  rewarded  as  distin- 
guished benefactors  of  mankind,  neither  statue  nor  votive 
wreath  would  have  been  wanting  to  his  honor." 

The  following,  expressing  the  same  appreciation, 
is  from  Dr.  Jonathan  Barber  to  James  Rush,  M.D. : 


with  whom  he  was  a  general  favorite.  Mr.  James  T.  Fields  spoke 
of  him  as  a  model  reader.  He  was  before  the  time  of  Fanny 
Kemble  or  Charles  Dickens. 


1 04  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

"Dear  Sir, — The  treatise  which  you  pubhshed  in  1827, 
entitled  "The  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Voice,"  was  the  first 
work  that  ever  presented  a  true  and  comprehensive  record 
of  the  vocal  functions.  Physiology  is  a  science,  the  details 
of  which  are  discoverable  only  by  observation  and  experi- 
ment. 

"The  history  of  the  functions  of  the  voice  is  a  legitimate 
department  of  that  science,  and  you  have  investigated  it  in 
the  only  true  method.  Your  work  is  strictly  inductive;  its 
philosophical  principle  is,  therefore,  correct.  It  combines,  at 
the  same  time,  such  fullness  of  detail,  with  such  an  orderly 
classification  of  the  vocal  functions,  as  to  entitle  your  views 
of  the  subject,  on  the  ground  both  of  the  comprehensiveness 
of  the  particulars  and  the  felicity  of  the  arrangement,  to  the 
denomination  of  a  science.  Much  less  originality,  depth,  and 
accuracy  of  investigation,  devoted  to  some  art  which  man- 
kind in  general  have  been  taught  to  consider  profitable, 
would  have  brought  you  a  more  immediate  recompense  of 
fame, — not,  however,  perhaps,  a  large  portion  of  ultimate  glory. 
As  to  the  practical  tendency  of  your  treatise,  I  would  observe 
that  it  satisfied  my  curiosity  as  to  the  elements  of  the  art 
which  I  teach,  and  enlarged  to  so  great  an  extent  my  re- 
sources as  a  teacher,  that  the  advantages  I  am  constantly 
deriving  from  it  of  themselves  prompt  me  to  a  full  and  grate- 
ful acknowledgment  of  its  merits. 

"Your  sincere  friend  and  servant, 

"Jonathan  Barber. 

"Cambridge,   October,  1831." 

Amongst  the  names  of  others  besides  Dr.  Barber, 
who  wrote  justly  and  intelHgently  upon  the  Rush 
system,  may  be  mentioned  those  of  Prof  Wm. 
Russell,  Samuel  R.  Gummere,  Weaver,  and  a  few 
others.  Their  works,  however,  except  in  the  case 
of  the  first  mentioned  author,  are  now  neglected  and 
some  of  them  out  of  print. 


Chapter  X. 

The  Author  s  Early  Experience. 

I  THINK  it  will  not  be  considered  an  obtrusion 
of  my  personal  history  upon  the  reader  if  I  here 
give  a  passing  glance  at  my  early  experience  with 
regard  to  elocutionary  study,  in  order  to  show  how 
the  necessities  of  my  profession  led  me  from  the 
imperfect  systems  of  the  old  school  to  the  study 
and  adoption  of  the  system  of  Dr.  Rush. 

My  early  choice  of  the  stage  as  a  profession  led 
me  to  seek  the  aid  of  Prof  Lemuel  G.  White,  a 
well-known  elocutionist  of  Philadelphia,  whose  in- 
structions, based  upon  the  routines  of  the  old 
school,  were  of  great  benefit  to  me  in  the  amateur 
part  of  my  career.  After  going  on  the  stage,  the 
colloquial  use  of  the  voice,  in  the  lighter  parts  of 
theatrical  representation,  was  in  itself  a  kind  of 
elocutionary  training.  But  I  found,  upon  attempt- 
ing the  heavier  parts  of  tragedy,  that  the  powers 
of  my  voice  did  not  enable  me  to  realize  my  ideal 
of  the  effects  I  desired  to  produce,  and  that  I  had 
yet  much  to  accomplish  in  the  way  of  vocal  disci- 
pline, my  previous  studies  having  been  rather  a 
training  in  articulation  and  emphasis  (in  the  ordi- 
nary   sense    of   force)    than   a   development   of   the 

(105) 


I  o6         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

qualities  of  the  voice,  or  a  study  of  the  expressive 
elements  of  spoken  language. 

Although  I  may  safely  affirm  that  the  general 
opinion  of  the  dramatic  profession,  in  our  own 
country  and  Great  Britain,  is  not  favorable  to  spe- 
cial elocutionary  training  for  dramatic  purpose, 
the  late  Mr.  Forrest  (who  had  been  a  reader  of 
Dr.  Rush,  if  not  a  strict  follower  of  his  principles), 
in  giving  me,  a  mere  tyro,  some  friendly  advice, 
observed,  * '  While  you  are  paying  so  much  atten- 
tion to  distinctness  of  utterance  and  to  the  inflec- 
tions of  your  voice  you  neglect  the  modulation  of 
your  tones,  in  consequence  of  which  you  tire  by 
uniformity.  I  should  advise  you  to  read  Dr.  Rush's 
'Philosophy  of  the  Voice.'"  I  was  somewhat  sur- 
prised to  receive  such  a  hint  from  the  great  trage- 
dian. It  however  caused  to  me  to  recollect  that 
while  studying  with  Professor  White  he  had  taken 
me  to  see  Dr.  James  Rush,  the  author  of  the  Phi- 
losophy, etc.  I  remembered,  too,  that  the  very 
instructive  conversation  I  heard  on  that  occasion 
had  impressed  me  with  the  idea  that  the  Professor 
and  the  Doctor  did  not  agree  on  the  subject  of 
voice  cultivation.  At  the  time  I  speak  of  I  was 
playing,  at  the  Arch  Street  Theater,  Philadelphia, 
subordinate  parts,  at  a  mere  bread-earning  salary. 
I  had  been  but  recently  married,  and  my  entire 
time  was  occupied  in  the  laborious  work  of  mem- 
orizing the  words  of  the  characters  allotted  me  — 
sometimes  four  or  five  during  the  same  week — the 
star  system,  then  in  vogue,  making  the  stock 
actor's  life  a  mere  drudgery. 


The  AiitJior' s  Early  Experience.        107 

In  consequence  of  such  a  constant  stud)-  of 
"words,  words,  words,"  it  may  be  seen  that  I  had 
no  fitting  time  to  devote  to  the  reading  of  sucli  an 
elaborate  work  as    "The  Philosophy  of  the   Voice." 

The  subject  therefore  passed  out  of  my  mind, 
and  I  went  on  acting,  it  may  be  said,  from  mere 
"instinct."  I  mention  this  to  show  that  such  stud- 
ies should  be  accomplished  ' '  in  the  apprentice  days 
of  youth,  while  the  faculties  are  quick  and  time 
accordant." 

In  spite  of  adverse  influences,  however,  I  still 
kept  an  open  ear  to  the  vocalities  of  my  profession. 
Upon  a  chance  occasion  I  received,  in  the  course 
of  a  discussion  on  the  subject  of  expression  in 
speech,  a  most  useful  lesson  from  a  vetern  actor, 
Mr.  Dwyer,  an  accomplished  comedian  of  the  old 
school,  whose  voice  had  been  trained  by  long 
practice  upon  the  stage,  and  under  the  influence 
of  such  high  exemplars  as  Mrs.  Siddons,  John  and 
Charles  Kemble,  and  Charles  Young.  One  thing  that 
deeply  impressed  itself  upon  my  mind,  and  gave  me 
a  new  idea  of  the  expressive  possibilities  of  read- 
ing, was  his  recitation  of  Byron's  Waterloo.  The 
heroic  sentiment  and  the  pathos  of  the  subject 
depicted  in  the  tones  of  voice  were  as  sensibly 
impressed  on  my  mind  as  if  I  had  been  an  actual 
observer  of  the  scene  described  by  the  poet.  I 
then  said  to  myself,  ' '  Here  are  certain  movements 
of  voice  and  expressive  effects  in  utterance  which 
I  can  not  command."  His  execution  had  nothing 
of  what  might  be  called  the  hard  hammering  of 
emphasis  when  expressed  only  in  the  percussion  of 


io8         A  Plea  jor  Spoken  Language. 

force,  or  puncturing  ictus  of  merely  accentual  stress. 
Nor  had  it  the  jingling  effect  so  apt  to  be  received 
from  the  system  in  which  expression  is  regulated 
by  the  grammatical  structure  of  the  sentence. 

It  was  this  circumstance  that  led  me  to  reflect 
upon  the  necessity  of  some  means  by  which  such 
vocal  effects  might  be  intelligently  reproduced,  for 
I  found  that  my  merely  imitative  efforts  fell  very 
far  short  of  the  end  desired,  my  voice  degenerating 
into  what  is  called  a  stage  tone,  or  executing,  from 
a  sense  of  modulative  necessity,  certain  undulating 
movements  very  unpleasant  to  the  ear.  This  finally 
determined  me  to  reconsider  my  style  and  meth- 
ods, and  to  take  up  Rush  instead  of  Walker  as 
my  guide. 

It  was  afterwards  (in  changed  circumstances)  my 
good  fortune  to  become  intimately  acquainted  with 
Dr.  Rush,  and  to  receive  from  him,  rather  in  the 
capacity  of  friend  than  of  professional  teacher,  a 
practical  exposition  of  the  underlying  principles  of 
his  "Philosophy  of  the  Voice."  Whenever  I  called 
upon  the  Doctor  he  would  draw  my  attention  to 
certain  points  regarding  the  production  of  sound, 
by  means  of  certain  muscular  movements  peculiar 
to  the  larynx  and  the  vocal  chords.  The  familiar 
examples  he  gave,  illustrative  of  important  princi- 
ples, were  a  revelation  to  me ;  and  afterwards  be- 
came of  the  most  inestimable  value,  in  enabling 
me  to  gain  control  over  syllabic  utterance  in  its 
relation  to  quality  and  quantity, — the  two  great 
essentials  of  a  perfected  elocution.  In  my  effort  to 
reproduce,  in  his  presence,  the  vocal  points  he  ex- 


The  A  lit  floras  Early  Experience.        109 

edited,  he  required  me  to  repeat  only  a  line  or 
two  of  some  appropriate  dramatic  language.  He 
would  then  comment  upon  the  manner  in  which 
I  struck  or  sustained  the  tone  of  my  syllables, 
singly  or  in  groups ;  after  which  he  would  execute 
like  movements  in  imitation  of  some  popular  speaker, 
or  after  the  style  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  whose  elocution 
he  considered  as  a  model  of  artistic  speech. 

By  following  his  mode  of  organic  action  in  the 
production  of  vocal  effects,  I  was  enabled  to  pro- 
duce the  desired  sounds  and  to  vary  them  at  pleas- 
ure. In  this  connection  I  would  state  that  Mr. 
White's  method  of  teaching  was  directly  opposite 
to  the  manner  in  which  Dr.-  Rush  conveyed  the 
information  he  gave.  The  former  arbitrarily  dic- 
tated the  accent  and  emphasis,  pitch  and  force,  of 
every  sentence  to  be  read  or  recited.  There  was 
no  analysis  of  the  elementary  principles  of  the  pro- 
ducing causes.  They  were,  so  to  speak,  treated  in 
the  lump,  by  illustration  in  the  teacher's  mode  of 
reading  or  reciting  some  extract,  the  pupil  imitat- 
ing, as  closely  as  possible  the  effects  exhibited  to 
him,  having  previously  committed  to  memory  cer- 
tain rules  concerning  inflection  and  pauses,  which 
he  applied  after  the  manner  prescribed  as  he  could 
remember. 

The  insight  gained  into  the  subject  of  Dr.  Rush's 
system  of  principles,  through  his  own  direction, 
was  so  much  benefit  to  me,  in  connection  with  my 
profession,  that  I  entered  upon  a  thorough  study 
of  the  entire  work  in  order  that  I  might  test  the 
practical  value  of  its  principles  to  their  full  extent. 


1 1  o         A  Plea  for  Spoken  LangiLage. 

In  the  course  of  events  circumstances  induced 
me  to  exchange  the  profession  of  the  actor  for  that 
of  the  elocutionist,  and,  in  1840,  after  special  prep- 
aration for  the  purpose  of  lecturing  on  the  Rush 
system  and  teaching  its  details,  I  opened,  in  con- 
nection with  Prof  Wm.  Russell,  a  school  of  elocu- 
tion in  Boston.  Here  it  was  that,  during  three 
years  of  incessant  labor,  I  not  only  fully  developed 
the  powers  of  my  voice,  and  thus  assured  myself 
of  a  vastly  increased  ability  to  deal  with  the  most 
difficult  elements  of  dramatic  expression,  but  also 
tested  beyond  question  the  superiority  of  this  vocal 
system  for  the  purpose  of  thorough,  effective,  and 
intelligent  instruction,  in  the  art  of  truly  artistic  and 
expressive  reading  and  speaking. 

Although  results  in  the  matter  of  training  pupils 
were  all  that  I  could  have  desired,  and  many  emi- 
nent men  (amongst  whom  were  Horace  Mann,  Dr. 
Humphrey  Storer,  John  A.  Andrew  and  others, 
some  literary  and  some  medical)  gave  their  influ- 
ence and  generous  sympathy  to  the  undertaking, 
other  circumstances  did  not  justify  a  continuation 
of  the  work.* 

The  main  cause  of  the  failure  of  the  enterprise 
was  an  announcement  made  in  the  high  schools,  to 


*  In  connection  with  the  institute  for  the  culture  of  the  voice,  I 
established  and  conducted  a  gymnasium  for  physical  training  gen- 
erally, but  with  special  reference  to  the  development  of  the  mu- 
cles  of  the  arms,  back,  and  chest,  so  closely  related  to  the  proper 
culture  of  the  more  delicate  organs  of  the  voice.  The  building 
occupied  was  large  and  well  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  an  insti- 
tute of  vocal  and  physical  culture.  The  appliances  were  ex- 
tensive and  costly,  and  the  staff  of  assistants  numerous  and  effi- 
cient. 


The  Atct/io?'  's  Early  Experience.        1 1 1 

this  effect,  as  well  as  I  can  remember:  "The  boys 
who  take  lessons  at  Murdoch  and  Russell's  Insti- 
tute will  not  be  permitted  to  contend  for  prizes  in 
declamation."  The  reasons  given  being  as  follows: 
' '  Other  boys,  who  are  debarred  from  such  advan- 
tages, or  it  may  be  can  not  devote  time  to  train- 
ing, outside  of  the  elocutionary  teaching  of  the 
schools,  are  thereby  placed  at  a  disadvantage  in 
competing  for  the  honors  of  delivery." 

This  order  was  brought  to  our  attention  by  the 
pupils  dropping  off,  and  the  reference  made  to  it 
by  parents  as  the  reason  for  withdrawing  their 
children  from  the  institute.  I  was,  in  consequence 
of  such  an  unexpected  "set-back,"  impelled  to  re- 
tire from  the  field  of  elocution  and  renew  my  rela- 
tions with  the  stage. 

In  addition  to  my  former  list  of  comedy  charac- 
ters, I  appeared  for  the  first  time  in  parts  of 
Shakesperean  tragedy,  such  as  Othello,  Hamlet, 
and  Macbeth,  and  whatever  degree  of  public  ap- 
probation I  was  fortunate  enough  to  secure  then 
and  since,  either  upon  the  stage  or  platform,  I  be- 
lieve to  have  been  founded  upon  the  results  of  the 
vocal  training  I  had  passed  through  in  accordance 
with  those  modes  of  voice  cultivation  consonant 
with  the  laws  of  physiology  and  vocal  expression 
laid  down  by  Dr.  Rush.  I  think  I  may  venture, 
therefore,  without  either  egotism  or  vanity,  to  say 
that  if  the  results  of  such  systematic  elocutionary 
training,  as  expressed  in  my  own  case,  may  be 
adduced  as  an  argument  for  the  same,  it  may  not 
be  inappropriately  instanced  for  that  purpose.      Al- 


112         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

though  engaged  in  the  active  duties  of  the  dramatic 
profession  at  certain  intervals  during  a  period  of 
thirty-five  or  forty  years,  I  have  always  found  time 
to  devote  to  my  first  love  —  elocution;  and  I  am 
convinced  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  only  hope  of 
a  thorough  and  comprehensive  method  of  instruc- 
tion in  vocal  culture,  and  the  expressive  and  cor- 
rect use  of  language  for  the  purposes  of  art, 
depends  upon  a  just,  intelligent,  and  practical  devel- 
opment of  the  principles  contained  in  "The  Philos- 
ophy of  the  Voice."  I  regard  it,  therefore,  as  the 
only  system  of  principles  universally  capable  of 
meeting  a  great  public  want,  and  of  insuring  the 
future  of  elocutionary  advancement ;  for  with  the 
equivalents  of  a  fair  trial,  reasonable  time,  and  pa- 
tient application,  to  every  one  possessing  ordinary 
intelligence,  imagination,  and  feeling,  it  supplies 
the  means'  by  which  pleasing  and  forcible  effects 
in  reading  and  speaking  may  be  attained  —  effects 
which,  though  produced  by  the  aid  of  art,  exhibit 
all  the  beauties,    forces,   and  graces  of  nature. 

The  following  will  show  how  even  a  hasty,  and 
consequently  an  imperfect  study  of  the  system  may 
contribute  to  an  improvement  in  the  manner  of 
delivery,  where  the  teacher  has  proper  principles 
to  impart  and  the  student  intelligent  perceptions 
and  application  to  practice  them : 

About  1 841,  Mr.  George  S.  Hillard  was  to  deliver 
the  PJii  Beta  Kappa  oration  at  the  college  celebra- 
tion at  Cambridge.  About  two  weeks  previous  to 
the  occasion  he  called  at  my  rooms  in  Boston 
with    a    view    to     "get    up    his    vocal    forces,"    as 


The  Author ' s  Early  Experience,       1 1 3 

he  said,  and  gain  a  few  practical  points  in  deliv- 
ery. 

Never  having  paid  any  attention  to  such  matters 
when  a  student,  and,  being  somewhat  depressed 
in  his  physical  condition  from  a  recent  illness,  he 
was  fearful  of  a  failure  in  his  oratorical  effort.  I 
suggested  to  him  a  course  of  vocal  gymnastics, 
such  as  his  case  required,  and  the  shortness  of  the 
time  for  preparation  allowed. 

On  his  first  appointment  he  brought  his  manu- 
script with  him,  with  the  idea  of  making  it  the 
subject-matter  for  the  vocal  drill ;  and  was  much 
surprised  when  I  told  him  that  it  would  be  better 
to  confine  the  mode  of  instruction  and  practice 
to  elementary  exercises  in  syllabic  intonation  and 
stress  —  together  with  quality  and  force,  varying 
in  kind  and  degree.  Such  a  process,  I  assured 
him,  after  a  proper  understanding  of  the  principles 
involved,  and  a  reasonable  amount  of  daily  prac- 
tice (the  better  if  in  the  open  air),  would  enable 
him,  with  perfect  ease,  to  give  effective  audible 
expression  to  his  own  language  without  subjecting 
it  to  the  dictation  of  another  conception.  Mr. 
Hillard  accepted  the  proposition,  and  carried  out 
the  details  in  a  spirit  of  earnest  study,  visiting  a 
convenient  point  at  the  sea-side  for  occasional 
"readings,"  with  proper  application  of  the  princi- 
ples explained  in  the  lessons  received  under  my 
direction.  The  oration  was  a  marked  success,  and 
a  surprise  to  his  auditors,  on  the  score  of  delivery, 
Mr.  Hillard's  previous  manner  never  having  exhib- 
ited any  particular  points  of  emotional  expression, 

p.  S.  L.-io. 


114         ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

although  noted  for  elegance  and  refinement,  with 
all  the  graces  of  rhetorical  diction.  The  frequent 
applause  which  greeted  the  orator  bore  witness  to 
the  newly-acquired  power  of  the  disciplined  speaker. 
At  the  close  of  the  exercises  Mr.  Hillard  remarked 
that,  instead  of  being  fatigued,  as  he  had  so  often 
been  on  previous  occasions,  he  felt  so  much  exhil- 
arated by  his  effort  that  he  believed  he  could  re- 
peat the  oration  then  and  there  with  more  ease 
and  comfort  to  himself  than  he  had  just  realized 
in  its  first  presentation. 

Mr.  Charles  Sumner  was,  at  that  time,  Mr.  Hil- 
lard's  law  partner.  Calling  at  their  rooms  the 
morning  after  the  delivery  of  the  oration,  Mr. 
Sumner  said  to  me,  "Why,  Mr.  Murdoch,  you 
have  gained  honors  from  George's  performance 
yesterday,  —  for  we  all  tell  him  that  the  delivery 
was  yours,  —  though  the  matter  was  his  own.''  I 
responded  by  saying  that  this  was  not  doing  jus- 
tice to  Mr.  Hillard,  —  inasmuch  as  I  had  never 
read  a  word  of  the  composition,  and  never  heard 
it  until  it  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  orator  of  the 
day.  Mr.  Sumner  was  greatly  surprised  when  I 
told  him  that  the  instruction  I  had  given  Mr.  Hil- 
lard had  been  confined  to  technical  elementary  ex- 
ercises, irrespective  of  any  consecutive  composition, 
and  especially  of  that  which  had  won  such  golden 
opinions  from  the  scholarly  audience  before  which 
it  was  delivered. 

Mr.  Sumner  frankly  confessed  that,  when  he 
heard  the  author  had  taken  elocutionary  lessons 
from  me,  he  had  supposed,  judging  from  the  meth- 


The  Author ' s  Early  Experience.        1 1 5 

ods  pursued  in  his  college  days,  that  his  inflec- 
tions, emphasis,  and  other  expressive  effects,  had 
of  course  been    a   matter  of  dictation  on  my  part. 


Chapter  XI. 
Reasons  for-  the  Neglect  of  Elocution. 

Having  already  briefly  spoken  of  the  position 
elocution  occupies  to-day  as  a  branch  of  general 
education,  and  of  the  limited  amount  of  didactic 
matter  contained  in  the  popular  elocutionary  text- 
books, I  shall  now  point  out  the  reasons  for  the 
existing  state  of  affairs  in  this  regard. 

As  the  fact  became  apparent  that  the  old  system 
of  teaching  elocution  did  not  develop  the  latent 
powers  of  the  young  speaker,  so  as  to  enable  him 
to  overcome  that  artificiality  in  vocal  effect  which 
was  owing  to  the  imperfections  of  the  inflective 
system,  teachers  became  anxious  to  find  a  remedy 
for  the  existing  evil. 

But  the  only  system  of  elocution  which  could 
meet  the  requirements  of  instruction  (that  founded 
on  the  Rush  philosophy),  was  rendered  unavailable 
with  the  mass  of  teachers  from  the  lack  of  both 
time  and  facilities  on  their  part  for  acquiring  a 
working  knowledge  of  its  principles  ;  therefore  the 
Walker  principles  retained  their  supremacy. 

Again,  the  introduction  into  the  schools  of  many 

new  branches  of  study,    much   more  satisfactory  in 

their  results,    proved  so    exhaustive  of   the  time  of 

both  teacher   and    scholar   that    elocution    gradually 
(1.6) 


Reasons  for  the  Neglect  of  Elocution.    1 1 7 

lost  whatever  footing  it  had  as  a  regular  branch 
of  disciplined  instruction.  The  easiest  and  most 
available  methods  for  immediate  results,  were  there- 
fore accepted  for  imparting  such  an  amount  of 
elocutionary  training  as  would  enable  the  aspir- 
ing scholar  to  make  an  effective  appearance  upon 
the  platform,  but  leaving  him  to*  depend,  for  the 
most  part,  upon  the  promptings  of  the  moment 
through  the  uncertain  impulses  of  his  feelings  or 
imagination. 

In  such  a  condition  of  affairs,  the  teacher  could 
do  little  else  than  employ  the  imitative  method  of  in- 
struction, by  which  the  pupil  is  taught  to  read  sim- 
ply according  to  the  dictation  of  his  exemplars — the 
learner  having  no  time  to  ask  the  "reason  why," 
nor  the  instructor  any  time   "to  render  a  reason." 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  popular  text-book  of 
the  schools  at  the  present  time  is  composed  chiefly 
of  selections  for  reading,  while  the  amount  of  prac- 
tical direction  for  their  study  and  execution  bears 
very  much  the  same  proportion  to  the  selections 
themselves  as  the  mouse  did  to  the  mountain  in 
^sop's  fable,  and  the  result  for  good  to  the  learner 
is  in  about  the  same  proportion.  In  many  cases, 
indeed,  especially  in  class  instruction,  what  didactic 
matter  there  is,  is  allowed  to  repose  undisturbed, 
while  the  student  becomes  either  a  good  or  a  bad 
reader  through  the  accidents  of  a  good  or  a  bad 
model,  and  great  or  small  natural  aptitude  on  his 
own  part ;  or  of  superior  ability  on  the  part  of  his 
teacher  in  the  way  of  individual  or  original  modes 
and  methods  of  illustration  and   instruction. 


1 1 8         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

While,  in  justice  to  a  subject  demanding  the  most 
impartial  consideration,  I  state  facts  as  I  know  them 
to  exist,  yet  respect  for  teachers  and  their  voca- 
tion induces  me  to  say  that  my  object  in  such 
statements  is  by  no  means,  to  disparage  the  ability 
of  the  former,  but  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that 
educationally  elocution  occupies  a  subordinate  po- 
sition, and  that  where  imperfections  or  faults  exist 
with  instructors,  they  are,  in  the  main,  more  those 
of  omission  than  of  commission. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  in  our  colleges,  and 
those  of  Great  Britain,  with  but  a  very  few  excep- 
tions, the  instruction  in  elocution  is  given,  not  by 
a  professor  fitted  by  especial  ability  and  training — 
as  in  other  branches  of  study  —  to  deal  with  the 
subject,  but  by  a  tutor,  selected  usually  from  among 
the  most  advanced  students  in  rhetoric ;  elocution 
being  thus  merged  in  a  subordinate  way  into  the 
chair  of  rhetoric.  The  consequence  is  that  while 
the  latter  is  taught  with  ability  and  effect,  the  for- 
mer is  merely  looked  over,  or,  in  its  broadest  sense, 
overlooked. 

Rhetoric,  in  its  present  acceptation,  is  the  study 
of  words  or  language  as  the  symbols  of  ideas,  and 
is  a  mental  process  only.  Elocution  is  the  study 
of  those  written  symbols  as  the  medium  of  the  vo- 
cal cxpjxssion  of  the  thoughts  or  emotions  which 
the  symbols  signify  or  represent. 

While  a  knowledge  of  the  written  forms  of  lan- 
guage and  their  governing  laws  is  essential  to  a 
perfect  elocution,  still  a  mastery  of  rhetoric  does 
not  by  any  means  involve  a  knowledge  of  the  vital 


Reasons  for  fJic  Neglect  of  Elocution.     1 19 

principles  of  elocution,  as  embodied  in  vocal  ex- 
pression, any  more  than  the  ability  of  the  artist 
to  outline  exquisite  forms  on  canvas,  includes  the 
power  also  to  infuse  into  them  the  glowing  colors 
of  rounded  life.  Indeed,  this  exemplifies  the  rela- 
tion elocution  bears  to  the  study  of  the  written 
forms  of  language.  One  supplies  the  form, —  per- 
fect, but  dumb  and  lifeless ;  the  other  breathes  into 
this  form  the  soul  and  throb  of  life  itself. 

Sheridan  gives  some  valuable  suggestions  with 
regard  to  the  relation  existing  between  the  two,  in 
substance  as  follows : 

"To  those  who  have  not  given  any  especial  reflection  to 
the  subject  it  is  at  first  difficult  to  realize  that  there  is  no 
natural  affinity  between  written  and  spoken  language,  but 
only  that  connection  which  custom  has  established.  They 
r.re  communicated  to  the  mind  through  the  medium  of  dif- 
ferent senses:  one  through  the  eye,  by  means  of  arbitrary 
characters;  the  other  through  the  ear,  by  means  of  articu- 
late sounds  and  natural  tones.  But  these  two  kinds  of  lan- 
guage are  associated  in  the  mind  so  early  in  life  that  it  is 
difficult  ever  after  not  to  suppose  that  there  is  some  natural 
relationship  existing  between  them.  And  yet  it  is  always 
well  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  connection  of  the  two  in  our 
mind  is  only  that  arising  from  an  habitual  association  of 
ideas.  This  is  obviously  shown  in  the  case  of  men  born 
blind  or  deaf.  The  former  may  be  masters  of  spoken  lan- 
guage, and  the  latter  of  written,  though  neither  can  form  any 
conception  of  the  communication  of  ideas  through  the  sense 
they  respectively  lack;  and  we  have  already  alluded  to  the 
fact  that  the  illiterate  person  possessed  no  other  idea  of  lan- 
guage than  that  received  through  the  ear.  In  such  cases, 
also,  we  generally  observe  that  the  person  uses  a  variety  of 
tones  in  speaking,  according  to  the  sense  or  the  emotions 
expressed  by   the  words;  while  a  deaf  man,  when   taught  to 


I  20         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

speak,  always  delivers  his  language  with  one  unvarying  mo- 
notony of  vocal  effect.  We  are  very  apt  to  find  also,  that 
the  reading  man,  in  proportion  as  he  gives  attention  chiefly 
to  the  written  or  to  the  oral  forms  of  language,  either  ap- 
proaches nearer  in  his  delivery  to  the  monotony  of  the  deaf 
man,  or  to  the  variety  of  the  illiterate.  Thus  it  is  so  often 
the  case  that  writers  or  men  who  devote  themselves  almost 
exclusively  to  letters  are  remarkable  for  their  indifferent  and 
ineffective  delivery."* 


*  Dryden,  though  one  of  the  first  harmonizers  of  our  language, 
was  so  indifferent  a  reader  that  when  he  brought  his  play  of 
Amphitryon  to  the  stage,  Gibber,  who  heard  him  give  it  the  first 
reading,  says:  "Though  he  delivered  the  plain  sense  of  every 
period,  yet  the  whole  was  in  so  cold,  so  flat,  and  unaffecting  a 
manner,  that  I  am  afraid  of  not  being  believed  if  I  should  ex- 
press it." 

Southern  says  of  Congreve,  "that  when  he  brought  a  comedy 
of  his  to  the  players  (Dr.  Johnson  believed  it  to  be  the  Old 
Bachelor)  he  read  it  so  wretchedly  ill  that  they  were  on  the 
point  of  rejecting  it,  till  one  of  tliem  good-naturedly  took  it  out 
of  his  hands  and  read  it,  when  they  were  so  fully  persuaded  of 
its  excellence  that  for  half  a  year  before  it  was  acted  he  had  the 
privilege  of  the  house." 

On  the  first  reading  by  Addison  of  his  Cato  in  the  greenroom 
he  succeeded  so  ill  that  he  would  not  attempt  it  a  second  time. 
He  therefore  consigned  that  task  to  Gibber,  who  acquitted  him- 
self so  much  better  than  the  author  that  the  latter  requested  he 
would  perform  the  part  of  Gato.  But  Gibber  knew  his  own  tal- 
ents too  well  for  this,  and  he  yielded  the  part  very  judiciously  to 
Booth. 

Isaac  Bickerstaff  recited  in  a  voice  so  thick  and  a  manner  seem- 
ingly embarrassed  as  rendered  him  not  only  incapable  of  giving 
variety  to  his  tones,  but  at  times  was  scarcely  intelligible.  In 
reading  his  comedy  of  'Tis  Well  It's  No  Worse  (since  cut  down 
to  the  farce  of  The  Panel)  to  a  small  circle  of  friends,  he  laid 
most  of  them  asleep. 

"Dr.  Goldsmith  read  so  slovenly,  and  with  such  an  Irish  brogue, 
that  it  was  sometimes  difficult  to  distinguish  his  poetry  from  his 
prose.  He  was  sensilile  of  this  himself,  and  used  to  say,  'I  leave 
the  reading  of  my  pieces  and  the  punctuation  of  them  to  the  play- 
ers and  the  printers;  for,  in  truth,  I  know  little  of  either.'"  — 
Foote's  Anecdotes. 

"Amongst  Goleridge's  accomplishments  good  reading  was  not 
one— he  had  neither  voice  nor  management  of  voice.  This  defect 
is   unfortunate  in    a    pul)lic    lecturer,    for  it   is    inconceivable    how 


Reasons  for  the  Neglect  of  Elocution.     1 2 1 

One  great  detriment  to  the  advancement  of  spo- 
ken language  —  that  is,  as  to  its  cultivation  for  artis- 
tic purposes  in  the  art  of  reading  and  delivery  — 
in  Sheridan's  time  (and  it  holds,  though  in  a  less 
degree,  at  the  present  time),  he  found  to  exist  in 
the  all-absorbing  preference  given  to  the  study  of 
the  dead  languages  over  that  of  the  living  native 
tongue — that  noble  state  and  essence  of  sound  rep- 
resented in  the  early  and  later  English  classics. 
Sheridan  says : 

"After  the  revival  of  the  dead  Languages,  which  suddenly 
enlightened  the  minds  of  men  and  diffused  general  knowl- 
edge, one  would  imagine  that  great  attention  would  ha\e 
been  paid  to  an  art  which  was  cultivated  with  so  much  care 
by  those  ancients  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  all  our  lights, 
and  that  it  would  have  an  equal  progress  amongst  us  with 
the  rest  which  we  had  borrowed  from  them.  But  it  was  this 
very  circumstance — the  revival  of  the  dead  languages — which 
put  a  stop  to  all  improvements  in  the  art  of  reading,  and 
which  has  continued  in  the  same  low  state  from  that  time  to 
this.  From  that  time  the  minds  of  men  took  a  wrong  bias. 
Their  whole  attention  was  employed  in  the  cultivation  of  the 
artificial  to  the  neglect  of  the  natural  la7igitage.  Letters,  not 
sounds;  writing,  not  speech,  became  the  general  care.  To 
make  boys  understand  what  they  read,  to  explain  the  mean- 
ing of  the  Greek  and  Roman  authors,  and  to  write  their  ex- 
ercises according  to  the  laws  of  grammar  or.  prosody  in  a 
dead  language,  were  the  chief  objects  of  instruction;  whilst 
that  of  delivery  was  so  wholly  neglected  that  the  best  schol- 
ars often   could   not  make  themselves  understood  in  repeat- 


much  weight  and  effectual  pathos  can  be  communicated  by  so- 
norous depth  and  melodious  cadences  of  the  human  voice  lo  sen- 
timents the  most  trivial;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  how  the  grand- 
est are  emasculated  by  a  style  of  reading  which  fails  in  dis- 
tributing the  lights  and  shadows  of  a  nuisical  intonation." — De 
Quincev. 

1'.  S.  I,.— II. 


12  2         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

ing  their   own    exercises,  or  disgraced    beautiful    composition 
by  an  ungracious  delivery." 

In  our  own  day  is  it  not  alike  painful  and  hu- 
miliating to  see  the  best  years  of  youth  spent,  dur- 
ing the  usual  academic  and  collegiate  course  of 
instruction,  in  the  study  —  seldom  the  acquisition  — 
of  the  dead  languages,  to  the  comparative  neglect 
of  our  own,  as  well  as  that  of  other  spoken  tongues? 
A  most  valuable  treatise  on  the  subject  of  the 
amount  of  time  devoted  to  the  Latin  and  Greek 
in  the  English  schools  and  universities,  with  sug- 
gestions for  a  reform  in  this  regard,  published  in 
1825  by  Geo.  Jardine,  F.  R.  S.  E.,  then  professor 
of  logic  and  rhetoric  in  the  University  of  Glasgow, 
contains  the  following  caustic  though  truthful  ob- 
servations : 

"If  the  study  of  language  be  such  an  essential  to  the  de- 
velopment of  the  adolescent  mind,  why,"  says  he,  "should 
not  living  languages  be  acquired  instead  of  dead  ones  ?  They 
have,  at  least,  the  additional  value  of  being  spoken  as  well 
as  read,  and  they  would  be  studied  with  far  more  delight  by 
the  young,  because  they  could  daily  witness  the  use  diwd  force 
atid  see  the  etid  of  stick  acquisition.  But  we  are  told  that  we 
must  cultivate  the  classic  languages,  because  thus  only  can  we 
acquire  taste,  literature,  poetry,  oratory,  grammar,  etymology, 
and  heaven  only  knows  what  more.  All  these  things,  be 
it  remarked,  not  as  they  relate  to  the  two  languages  in  ques- 
tion, but  as  they  relate  to  our  own.  In  this  process,  also, 
be  it  again  remarked,  we  are  neither  compelled  to  cultivate 
our  grammar  nor  our  own  language,  with  all  these  and  what- 
ever categories  are  involved  in  it.  In  fact,  our  own  lan- 
guage and  its  authors,  are  not  only  neglected,  but  excluded*. 


■•■■  Not  excluded  now,  but  still  comparatively  neglected  as  far  as 
the  relative  time  paid  lo  them  is  concerned. 


Reasons  for  the  Neglect  of  EIociUlou.    123 

by  the  system,  and,  were  it  not  for  our  mothers  and  nurses, 
we  should  possess  as  httlc  language  as  an  orang-outang, 
since  we  should  understand  neither  English,  Latin,  nor  Greek. 
"But  yet  we  are  told  that  without  the  dead  languages  we 
would  have  no  models  for  poetry  or  eloquence.  We  must, 
therefore,  either  deny  that  the  poetry  or  oratory  of  Britain 
can  be  formed  by  those  of  Greece  and  Rome,  or,  what  is 
more  easily  proved,  assert  that  they  are  not  actually  so 
formed;  that  many  of  our  highest  orators  and  poets  have 
derived  nothing  from  classical  models,  and  that  there  is  no 
want  in  the  English  language  or  in  those  of  modern  Europe, 

of  models  to  follow  or   materials  to   form  a  taste Are 

we  to  believe  that  if  the  names  of  Cicero  and  Demosthenes 
had  never  been  heard,  there  would  not  be,  or  might  not  have 
been,  or  will  not  be,  great  orators  now?" 

I  think  this  question  will  be  satisfactorily  an- 
swered by  a  consideration  of  the  preceding  facts  in 
the  history  of  the  art  of  delivery  amongst  the  En- 
glish. 

Read  Ouintilian  and  Cicero,  says  scholastic  au- 
thority to  the  earnest  seeker  for  the  secret  of  the 
expressive  powers  of  speech.  But  unfortunately 
when  they  are  read  the  practical  result  is  very 
much  the  same  as  that  in  the  search  for  Gratiano's 
reasons  as  stated  by  Bassanio : 

"His  reasons  are  as  two  grains  of  wheat  hid  in  two  bush- 
els of  chaff;  you  shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  find  them,  and 
when  you  have  them,  they  are  not  worth  the  search." 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  if  but  one  half  of 
the  time  were  devoted  in  our  schools  and  colleges 
to  the  proper  study  of  our  own  spoken  tongue,  in 
connection  with  an  equal  amount  of  training  with 
regard    to    the    features  of   its    written    construction 


1 24         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

that  is  given  to  the  dead  languages,  the  practical 
proof  of  its  capabilities  as  a  vehicle  of  both  beauty 
and  power  would  soon  exist  in  the  artistic  delivery, 
as  well  as  in  the  ordinary  speech,  of  those  who  by 
such  study  had  mastered  a  knowledge  of  all  its 
constituent  elements  of  expression. 

A  knowledge  of  the  classics  doubtless  disciplines 
the  youthful  Diind  for  a  true  understanding  and  ap- 
preciation of  English,  but  does  it  give  the  tongue 
the  ability  to  deal  strongly  and  eloquently  with  the 
audible  expression  of  that  language  in  which  a 
Shakespeare  and  a  Milton  thought,  wrote,  and 
spoke?  —  a  language  which  is  destined  to  be  heard 
and  admired  when  Greek  and  Latin  syllables  in 
their  modern  sounds  shall  have  become  as  dusty 
and  obscure  as  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  temples  and 
forums  which  once  re-echoed  with  their  true  vocal- 
ities  in  the  service  of  classic  zeal  and  manly  elo- 
quence. 


Chapter  XII. 
Capabilities  of  tJic  English  Language. 

The  English  language  has  been  shown  to  possess, 
when  employed  in  accordance  with  those  principles 
which  govern  its  perfect  utterance,  all  the  essentials 
of  both  musical  and  powerful  effect  in  speech.  An 
English  writer  (C.  J.  Plumtre),  in  a  series  of  lect- 
ures at  Kings  College,  recently  published,  on  the 
subject  of  elocution  (and  which  are  most  gratifying 
in  the  substantial  testimony  they  contain  with  re- 
gard to  the  growing  recognition  of  the  value  of 
this  study  in  England  among  men  of  eminence), 
says,  in  speaking  of  the  carelessness  and  slovenli- 
ness of  utterance  amongst  the  English  people : 

"Hence  that  unmusical  and  expressionless  'gabble'  which 
so  often  pains  and  wearies  our  ears  in  the  reading  desk, 
pulpit,  and  public  meeting,  which  has  brought  down  upon 
our  glorious  English  tongue — that  tongue  which  the  great  Ger- 
man philologist,  Jacob  Grimm,  asserts  to  possess  a  veritable 
power  of  expression  and  comprehension  unsurpassed  by  any 
language  on  earth,  whether  ancient  or  modern — the  reproach 
of  being  harsh  and  rugged.  I  say  most  emphatically,  the  re- 
proach is  not  deserved.  Our  English  language  has  not  merely 
a  sufficiency  of  consonants  to  give  it  nerve,  energy,  and  power, 
but  quite  a  sufficient  recurrence  of  vowel  sounds,  if  justice  is 
only  done  them,  to  give  it  full  beauty  and  melody  of  sound 
in  pronunciation.      I  give  this   challenge :  Let  any   one   hear 

(125) 


126         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

a.  fine  passage  from  Shakespeare,  Milton,  or  Tennyson,  for 
instance,  read  by  an  accomplished  and  refined  reader,  well 
endowed  with  good  natural  gifts,  and  capable  by  study  and 
practice  in  the  art  of  elocution  of  conveying  all  the  poet 
would  desire  to  the  senses  and  feelings  of  his  audience,  and 
then  say,  if  he  honestly  can,  that  our  English  language  is 
wanting  either  in  grandeur  or  beauty  of  sound." 

Sheridan,  who,  in  the  capacity  of  both  actor  and 
scholar,  had  every  means  of  appreciating  the  pow- 
ers and  beauties  of  our  spoken  language,  thus  elo- 
quently writes  of  it : 

"Through  the  want  of  inquiry  into  the  true  genius  and 
power  of  our  own  tongue  ourselves,  we  are  apt  to  admit 
whatever  criticisms  foreigners  are  pleased  to  make  on  our  lan- 
guage, and  to  acquiesce  under  whatever  censure  they  throw 
out.  On  such  an  inquiry,  it  would  be  found  that  probably 
in  no  language  in  the  world  have  the  vowels,  diphthongs, 
semi-vowels,  and  mutes  been  so  happily  blended,  and  in  such 
due  proportion,  to  constitute  the  three  great  powers  of  speech  — 
melody,  harmony,  and  expression.  And,  upon  a  fair  com- 
parison, it  would  appear  that  the  French  have  emasculated 
their  tongue  by  rejecting  such  numbers  of  their  consonants; 
that  the  German,  by  abounding  too  much  in  harsh  conso- 
nants and  guttural,  has  great  size  and  strength,  like  the  statue 
of  Hercules  Farnese,  but  no  grace;  that  the  Roman,  like 
the  bust  of  Antinous,  is  beautiful  indeed,  but  not  manly;  that 
the  Italian  has  beauty,  grace,  and  symmetry,  like  the  Venus 
of  Medicis,  but  is  feminine;  and  that  the  English  alone  re- 
sembles the  Ancient  Greek  in  uniting  the  three  powers  of 
strength,  beauty,  and  grace,  like  the  Apollo  of  Belvedere. 

"But  all  the  powers  of  sound  must  remain  in  a  state  of 
confusion  or  impenetrable  darkness  while  the  custom  contin- 
ues of  applying  ourselves  wholly  to  the  study  of  the  written 
language  and  neglecting  that  of  speech.  When  the  art  of 
reading  with  propriety  shall  have  been  established  and  has 
produced  its  effects,  a  new  field  will  be  opened  to  our  writers, 


The  English  Language.  i  2  7 

unknown  to  their  predecessors,  for  composition  both  in  poetry 
and  prose,  which  will  display  in  a  new  light  the  vast  compass 
of  our  language  in  point  of  harmony  and  expression,  from 
the  same  cause  which  produced  similar  effects  at  Rome  in 
thp  writers  of  the  Ciceronian  or  Augustine  age.  For  it  was 
at  that  period  that  the  Romans  first  applied  themselves  to 
the  cultivation  of  the  living  language,  having  before,  like  us, 
employed  themselves  wholly  about  the  written." 

"The  English  language,"  says  one  of  our  own  lexicogra- 
phers, "is  peculiarly  adapted  to  popular  eloquence,  being 
nervous  and  masculine,  whai  pronounced  according  to  the 
gc7iiiinc  composition  of  its  words'' 

Sheridan  tasks  the  people  of  England  in  his  day 
with  being  a  nation  of  bad  readers  and  speakers  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  "in  no  other  country  is  there 
greater  need  or  greater  occasion  for  good  reading 
or  speaking."  Unfortunately,  the  same  may  be 
said  of  our  own  people  as  a  nation  to-day,  and 
will,  indeed,  always  be  true  every-where  until  spoken 
language  takes  its  proper  rank  as  a  branch  of  edu- 
cation. 

Here,  in  a  land  where  education  is  so  universal, 
where  the  power  of  eloquence  is  so  mighty  and  so 
valued ;  here,  in  our  institutions  of  advanced  learn- 
ing, from  the  subordinate  position  in  which  elocu- 
tion is  placed,  insufficient  time  is  allowed  either 
for  the  intelligent  or  artistic  study  of  our  spoken 
language,  —  the  common  speech  of  two  of  the  great- 
est nations  of  the  earth ;  while  the  fountain-head 
from  which  all  learning  springs — the  public  schools — 
are  without  sufficient  time  or  systematic  plan  for 
the  instruction  of  our  children  in  the  correct  em- 
ployment of  the  natural  vocal  elc7nents  of  their  na- 


128         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

tive  tongue.  From  this  lack  of  special  and  intelli- 
gent instruction  in  the  early  stages  of  education, 
children  are  permitted,  as  they  advance  in  years, 
to  lose  sight  of  that  blessed  boon  of  natural  '^nd 
unaffected  speech  vouchsafed  to  a  state  of  child 
hood.  The  preservation  of  this  gift  of  nature  from 
the  inroads  of  bad  habits,  so  easily  acquired  in  the 
midst  of  the  artificialities  of  conventional  life,  de- 
mands a  more  radical  and  thorough  system  of  in- 
struction,—  a  system  in  which  the  training  (upon 
the  natural  vocal  elements  and  their  significance  in 
speech)  in  the  primary  departments,  would  furnish 
a  foundation  for  instruction  in  the  higher  grades, 
and  thence  carry  the  pupil  to  the  crowning  point, 
which  molds  an  easy,  unaffected  utterance  into  the 
forms  of  a  perfected  elocution. 

The  proper  place  for  these  last  studies  would  be, 
of  course,  in  connection  with  rhetoric  in  a  college 
course.  But  as  long  as  the  deficiency  exists  in  the 
early  stages  of  education,  irregular  and  unformed 
habits  of  speech  will  inevitably  engraft  themselves 
upon  youth,  and,  becoming  matured  before  the 
intellectual  faculties  are  fully  developed,  will  pro- 
duce serious  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  acquisition 
of  a  truly  natural,    graceful,   and   finished    delivery. 

Articulation,  accent,  and  correct  pronunciation, 
pnrity  of  tone  and  pitch  of  voice,  should  be  taught 
as  primary  points  or  elementary  features  of  educa- 
tion ;  that  is,  before  the  more  advanced  stage  of 
expressive  reading  or  of  public  address  is  taken 
up  as  a  special  study. 

When  this  is  accomplished,  the  teacher  of  clocu- 


The  English   Language.  129 

tion  will  have  the  advantage  enjoyed  by  the  teacher 
of  music.  His  pupils  will  know,  as  it  were,  the 
notes  of  speech,  and  he  will  have  but  to  dictate  their 
use,  and  direct  the  learner  in  their  execution  in  the 
interpretation  of  an  author's  language. 

The  advantages,  therefore,  of  such  a  systematized 
and  graduated  method  of  vocal  training  in  our 
schools,  based  upon  the  unchanging  laws  of  nature, 
as  would  lead  by  sure  and  easy  stages  to  the  per- 
fections, not  only  of  oratorical  delivery  and  artistic 
reading,  but  to  those  of  eloquent  and  natural  speech, 
certainly  can  not  be  too  highly  estimated. 

Considering  the  existing  state  of  things  from  the 
standpoint  I  have  from  conviction  been  led  to  take, 
I  feel  justified  in  stating  that  the  subject  of  elocu- 
tion, as  at  present  treated  in  our  schools  and  col- 
leges, possesses  neither  the  characteristics  of  a  science 
nor  the  practical  enforcement  of  any  such  fixed 
rules  and  laws  as  those  upon  which  are  founded  the 
formulas  of  all  well  disciplined  art.  Proofs  to  the 
contrary  no  doubt  exist  in  exceptional  cases,  but 
I  am  safe  in  saying  that  there  is  no  generally  ac- 
cepted mode  of  instruction  in  the  art  of  reading  and 
speaking  that  ought  to  be,  from  its  intrinsic  value, 
the  basis  for  a  standard  of  authority  and  excellence. 
Of  the  position  elocution  occupies  in  relation  to  in- 
struction, independent  of  its  general  treatment  in 
our  regular  institutions  of  learning,  I  shall  not  speak 
farther  than  to  say  that,  owing  to  the  object  of 
both  teacher  and  pupil  being,  in  the  majority  of 
cases,  and  from  a  popular  estimate,  iuunediate  re- 
sults,   the    study    is    considered,     and    consequently 


130        A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

treated,  in  too  generalistic  a  sense.  Its  effects  are 
grasped  at,  without  a  due  appreciation  of  the  meth- 
ods and  details  of  vocal  discipline  necessary  to  le- 
gitimately and  artistically  accomplish  those  effects. 
The  tendency,  therefore,  is  towards  exaggerations 
of  utterance  and  crudities  of  style,  and  that,  too,  in 
many  cases,  where  the  same  amount  of  native  power 
and  ability  in  the  student,  under  the  direction  of  de- 
veloped taste,  intelligence,  and  artistic  skill,  would 
produce  results  of  the  highest  order.  This  desire 
to  leap  rather  than  to  grow  into  the  mastery  of 
bold  and  strong  points  betrays  the  reader  or  speaker 
into  indiscriminate  and  excessive  uses  of  voice  and 
action,  —  such  as  unmeaning  transitions  and  exag- 
gerations of  tone,  "full  of  sound  and  fury  signify- 
ing nothing;"  abrupt  starts,  striking  attitudes,  and 
overstrained  facial  expression,  —  in  short,  into  what- 
ever will  succeed  in  creating  a  series  of  startling 
effects  by  which  to  challenge  the  attention  and  ad- 
miration of  the  auditor.  The  result  of  this  "acting 
out"  of  the  author's  language  is  to  defeat  the  le- 
gitimate and  primary  object  of  all  good  reading, 
which  is  to  present  the  language  through  the  me- 
dium of  the  reader's  vocal  art,  instead  of  obscuring 
the  author  by  an  obtrusion  of  the  reader's  person- 
ality. 

I  speak  strongly  upon  this  point  because  I  can 
not  but  believe,  though  I  do  so  with  regret,  that 
the  tendency  of  elocution,  as  the  outcome  of  ex- 
isting circumstances,  is  at  the  present  day  rather 
towards  poor  acting  than  good  reading.  Indeed,  from 
such  inartistic  methods  in  the  popular  treatment  of 


The  English  Language.  131 

elocution,  the  subject  itself  has  come  under  reproach 
amongst  a  large  number  of  persons  of  good  taste 
and  sound  judgment,  who  believe  that  they  are 
judging  the  tree  by  its  fruits.  Thus,  in  large  meas- 
ure, may  Ave  trace  that  general  indifference  to  the 
subject  among  educational  authorities,  to  which  we 
have  already  alluded,  and  which  is  to  be  deplored, 
though  it  can  not  be  condemned,  since  we  may 
look  upon  it,  in  one  sense,  as  a  negative  indorse- 
ment of  the  true  art  when  that  art  and  its  possi- 
bilities shall  come  to  be  fully  understood  and 
developed.  The  following,  taken  from  the  recent 
English  work  we  have  already  quoted,  may  serve 
to  confirm  the  justice  of  the  foregoing  remarks: 

"Let  me  here  stop  to  inquire  why  it  is  that  a  science  and 
art  like  elocution, —  for  I  claim  that  it  is  both, — and  which, 
in  classical  times,  was  so  highly  valued,  should  of  late  years 
have  been  comparatively  disregarded  as  part  of  our  education; 
and  yet  music,  singing,  drawing,  and  other  accomplishments 
have  all  received  their  due  share  of  attention, —  and  most 
properly  so,  for  I  should  be  the  last  person  to  undervalue 
the  cultivation- of  any  one  art  that  tends  to  promote  the  grace 
and  refinements  of  life,  and  advance  the  civilization  of  all 
ranks  of  society.  But  why  is  it  that  elocution  should  have 
fallen  from  the  position  it  once  occupied  in  other  days  and 
circumstances?  Well,  one  reason,  I  believe,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  the  word  has  been  made  a  bug-bear  of,  and 
has  frightened  away  many  excellent  persons — persons  of  taste 
and  refinement — from  the  pursuit  of  its  study,  through  a  com- 
pletely erroneous  interpretation  of  its  meaning  and  character. 
Does  not  many  a  man  entertain  a  sort  of  secret  conviction, 
even  if  he  does  not  openly  express  the  opinion,  that  the 
study  and  practice  of  elocution  must  eventually  lead  to  a 
pompous,  bombastic,  stilted,  and  pedantic  style, — a  style,  in 
short,  in  which  the  palpably  artificial  reigns  predominant  over 


132  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Laugiuige . 

every  thing  that  is  pure,  simple,  and  natural  ?  Now,  all  that 
I  can  say  is  that,  if  elocution  either  means,  or,  properly  un- 
derstood and  taught,  really  tended  to,  any  thing  of  the  kind, 
I  should  be  the  last  person  to  advocate  its  adoption  in  col- 
leges,  schools,    or   anywhere  else." 

It  is  needless  to  add  my  concurrence  in  this  last 
opinion.  Of  this  "effect  defective"  in  the  popu- 
lar method  of  dealing  with  the  subject  of  elocution, 
I  hope  to  speak  more  at  length  hereafter.  I  men- 
tion it  here  briefly  for  the  purpose  of  calling  at- 
tention to  a  fact  that  can  not  be  too  much  depre- 
cated, and  that  is,  that,  from  the  lack  of  a  generally 
accepted  standard  of  true  artistic  excellence,  and 
hence  of  taste,  in  the  matter  of  reading  and  recita- 
tion, the  public  too  often  accepts — nay,  applauds — 
crudities  and  exaggerations  of  style  in  the  place  of 
a  just  copy  of  nature  implied  in  good  reading. 

But  when  the  general  taste  shall  have  become 
educated  to  understand  the  whole  art  and  its  re- 
quirements, as  in  song,  then  there  will  exist  a  stand- 
ard and  a  tribunal  for  the  vocal  art  in  speech,  from 
whose  decisions  there  will  be  no  appeal. 

I  have  not  set  down  these  things  concerning  the 
present  state  of  elocution  in  the  spirit  of  the  Shakes- 
perian  lines, 

"  I  am  Sir  Oracle; 
And  when  I  ope  my  lips,  let  no  dog  bark!," 

but  in  that  spirit  of  impartiality  which  should  mark 
all  suggestions  for  the  general  good,  and,  in  the 
earnest  desire  for  the  advancement  of  the  art  of 
spoken  language  through  rational  means  and  on 
truly  scientific  and  artistic  principles. 


TJie  Etiglish  Language.  133 

"Fixed  principles  in  the  arts,"  says  the  author 
who  has  revealed  to  us  those  of  elocution,  ' '  are 
of  the  utmost  importance,  not  only  because  they 
are  the  true  sources  of  the  intellectual  enjoyment 
which  the  arts  afford,  but  they  are  the  most  effect- 
ive means  for  their  improvement."  With  founda- 
tions laid  in  these,  what  may  we  not  hope  for  the 
future  of  our  spoken  language. 

In  the  onward  march  of  the  American  spirit  of 
inquiry  and  improvement  in  the  science  of  educa- 
tion, the  time  must  come  when  the  claims  of  an 
advanced  state  of  elocutionary  training  will  meet 
with  the  appreciation  and  support  of  a  generous 
public  opinion.  Then,  as  foreshadowed  by  the  elo- 
quence of  a  Chatham  or  a  Webster,  our  grand  old 
Saxon  syllables,  rounded  by  the  developed  powers 
of  a  national  voice,  shall  be  heard  from  ocean  to 
ocean,  rivaling  in  vocal  beauty  the  far-famed  hon- 
ors of  the  notes  of  song. 

Let  those  who  doubt  the  great  possibilities  of 
the  art  of  spoken  language  under  the  combined 
influences  of  time,  scientific  principles,  and  patient 
industry,  reflect  upon  what  has  been  achieved  in 
the  service  of  song.  Let  him  reflect,  too,  upon 
the  fact  that  the  tones  in  which  the  primitive  singer 
sought  to  give  expression  to  his  joy  or  sorrow  were 
only  the  unheeded  sounds  of  speech,  intuitively 
caught  up  and  expanded  or  diminished,  raised  or 
depressed,  and,  in  exulting  loudness  or  desponding 
softness,   made  the  echo  of  the  inner  life. 

How  long  did  such  simple  intercourse  gladden 
the  heart  of  shepherd  and    shepherdess,    in  the  re- 


134         ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

sponsive  notes  of  pipe  and  song,  before  the  inven- 
tion of  the  lettered  page  or  the  noted  sheet?  And 
yet,  by  patient  observation  and  comparison  of  the 
various  effects  of  music,  by  perfecting  its  symbols 
and  nomenclature,  whole  nations  have  been  edu- 
cated into  a  capacity,  not  only  for  the  common  en- 
joyment of  its  highest  results,  but  also  for  the 
just  criticism  of  its  performances. 

The  art  of  music,  perfect  as  it  is  at  present, 
sprang,  then,  from  the  most  artless  beginnings ; 
nor  has  its  progress  always  been  smooth  and  unin- 
terrupted. From  the  time  that  Hermes  strung  the 
shell  with  four  strings,  and  first  created  tones  through 
a  cycle  of  ages ;  from  barbaric  rudeness  to  the  high- 
est civilization  of  the  classic  era,  the  art  of  song 
budded,  blossomed,  and  then  faded  with  the  glory 
it  had  helped  to  inspire,  until  it  found  a  grave 
amid  the  ruins  of  the  Roman  Empire. 

But  it  rose  again  at  the  call  of  the  early  church, 
in  the  form  of  its  rude  chants,  till,  beneath  the 
fostering  wing  of  religious  fervor  and  inspiration, 
it  acquired  those  glorious  perfections  by  which 
Timotheus  raised  his  fellow-mortals  to  the  skies, 
and  the  fair  Cecilia  drew  her  sister  spirits  down  to 
sit  enraptured  at  the  feet  of  the  mistress  of  song. 

What  transcendent  talent,  what  inconceivable  time 
and  industry  have  been  devoted  to  the  service  of 
music  since  that  day,  while  the  smiles  of  kings  and 
princes  and  the  plaudits  of  the  world  attest  its  tri- 
umphs and  uphold  its  sovereignty  ! 

The  development  of  the  art  of  speech  may  be 
considered  of  perhaps    more    intrinsic    value  to  the 


The  Eiiglish  Language.  135 

human  race  than  even  the  ,brilHant  and  captivating 
department  of  song.  One,  at  least,  in  which  the 
highest  results  appeal,  not  only  to  the  sensations 
of  the  beautiful  in  sound,  but  to  the  highest  intel- 
lectual and  moral  faculties. 

Says  Charles  Lunn,  a  moaen  scientific  authority 
on  vpice  production,  in  comparing  song  and  speech : 
"An  orator,  for  one  end,  unites  the  forces  found 
in  cmotiojis,  in  impressions,  and  in  ideas;  and  he  can 
only  do  this  when  he  possesses  absolute  control 
over  the  voice." 

This  writer  also  speaks  of  the  "downfall  of  tone" 
in  speech,  v,hich  accompanies  the  advanced  intel- 
lectual standard  of  the  present  day,  and  attributes 
it  most  justly  to  the  exclusive  attention  to  ideas  in 
the  uses  of  speech,  and  the  consequent  neglect  of 
the  sound  values  of  language.  He  adds,  in  this 
connection:  "Purely  as  a  question  of  health,  the 
voice  should  be  cultivated.  Collaterally  with  the 
culture  of  words,  both  spoken  words  and  vocal 
tone  should  grow  up  together." 

The  time  has  come  for  the  American  educators 
to  investigate  the  claims  of  the  art  of  spoken  lan- 
guage in  that  spirit  of  progression  which  so  emi- 
nently characterizes  the  age.  As  long  as  the  pub- 
lic men  who  are  looked  to  for  direction  and  author- 
ity in  matters  of  educational  interest  remain  indif- 
ferent to,  or  ignore,  the  true  principles  upon  which 
is  based  the  proper  study  of  audible  reading  and 
public  address,  or  fail  to  acknowledge  the  practical 
means  by  which  such  principles  can  be  plainly  man- 
ifested and  applied,   so  long  must  the  vocal  perfec- 


J 


6         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 


tions  of  our  language  _  remain  comparatively  un- 
known, and  an  immense  educational  power  be  per- 
mitted to  lie   undeveloped. 

When  all  narrow  and  prejudiced  opinions  shall 
have  given  way  to  more  advanced  views  on  the 
subject  of  elocution,  it  will  not  then  be  looked 
upon  as  a  monopoly  in  the  hands  of  a  small  num- 
ber of  people  known  as  "Elocutionists,"  but  as  a 
necessary  branch  of  all  liberal  education. 


The  ^ower  of  Sound  in  Language. 


P.S.L._i,.  (137) 


CHAPTER    I. 

Power  of  Voice  a7id  Gesture  Compared. 

Note. — It  is  by  no  means  my  design  in  the  present  part  to  at- 
tempt a  disquisition  upon  the  origin  and  growth  of  language,  but 
simply  to  outline  the  subject,  through  the  aid  of  acknowledged  au- 
thorities, in  a  manner  that  will  shed  light  on  the  study,  to  follow, of 
the  principles  underlying  vocal  exjnession  in  speech.  My  object, 
therefore,  in  the  preparation  of  the  pages  of  this  part,  has  Ijcen  to 
touch  upon  only  the  most  salient  features  of  the  interjectional  and 
onomatopoetic  theory,as  illustrative  of  the  great  fundamental  prin- 
ciple in  vocal  expression  ;  namely,  the  intimate  connection  existing 
between  sound  and  feeling, and  sound  and  sense;  or,  ii\  other  words, 
the  peculiar  significance  of  sound  in  speech. 

For  the  ideas  concerning  this  theory  of  language,  and  for  many 
of  the  forms,  I  wish  to  acknowledge  myself  chiefly  indebted  to  the 
valuable  work  of  the  Rev.  Frederick  W.  Farrar,  M.  A. 

I  HAVE  stated  the  fact,  in  the  preceding  part,  that 
the  relations  existing  between  the  various  states  of 
mind  and  the  speaking  voice  constitute  the  basis 
of  the  true  philosophy  of  the  latter,  and  hence  the 
great  value  of  Dr.  Rush's  discoveries.  In  the  fol- 
lowing pages,  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  show  that 
these  mental  and  vocal  relationships  are  more  in- 
timate and  more  easily  traceable  than  may  be  at 
first  supposed. 

This  great  fundamental  principle  should,  then, 
be  regarded  as  one  of  primary  consideration  in  a 
proper  study  of  elocution. 

Writers  on  elocution,  both  ancient  and  modern, 
previous  to  Rush,  recognized  the  existence  of  such 

(139) 


140         A  Plea  for  Spoke^i  Language. 

relationships  in  a  general  sense,  but  a  knowledge 
of  their  exact  character  or  specific  features,  as  ex- 
isting in  the  varied  forms  of  vocal  expression,  seems 
not  to  have  been  perceived,  or,  at  least,  not  devel- 
oped in  any  writings  before  those  of  this  author. 

Sheridan,  who  has  treated  the  subject  more  ex- 
tensively than  any  of  the  other  early  writers,  wrote 
upon  it  with  great  ability  and  correctness  as  far  as 
he  went ;  and  it  is  upon  the  grounds  established  by 
him  that  Dr.  Rush  proceeded  in  his  analysis  of  the 
vocal  sounds  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  their 
elements  of  significance  and  power.  Sheridan  says 
most   truly : 

"The  mind,  in  communicating  its  ideas,  is  in  a  continual 
state  of  activity,  emotion,  or  agitation,  from  the  different  ef- 
fects which  these  ideas  produce  in  the  mind  of  the  speaker. 
Now,  as  the  end  of  such  communication  is  not  merely  to  lay 
open  the  ideas,  but  also  the  different  feelings  which  they  ex- 
cite in  him  who  utters  them,  there  must  be  some  other  marks 
beside  words  to  manifest  these,  as  words  uttered  in  a  monot- 
onous state  can  only  represent  a  similar  state  of  mind,  per- 
fectly free  from  all  activity  or  emotion.  As  the  communica- 
tion of  these  internal  feelings  was  a  matter  of  much  more 
consequence  in  our  social  intercourse  than  the  mere  convey- 
ing of  ideas,  so  the  Author  of  our  being  did  not  leave  the 
invention  of  this  language,  as  in  the  other  case,  to  man,  but 
stamped  it  himself  upon  our  nature  in  the  same  manner  as 
he  has  done  with  the  animal  world,  who  all  express  their 
various  feelings  by  various  tones.  Only  ours,  from  the  su- 
perior rank  we  hold,  is  infinitely  more  comprehensive;  as 
there  is  not  an  act  of  the  mind,  an  exertion  of  the  fancy,  or 
an  emotion  of  the  heart,  which  have  not  their  peculiar  tone 
or  note  of  the  voice  by  which  they  are  to  be  expressed,  all 
suited  in  the  exactest  proportion  to  the  several  degrees  of 
int^rnrrl  feeling." 


Voice  and  Gesture.  141 

No  writer  on  elocution,  I  believe,  has  attempted 
to  explain  the  reason  of  this  correspondence  between 
the  mental  state  and  the  vocal  sign,  beyond  the  fact 
that  the  mental  agitation  or  excitement  has,  by 
observation,  as  in  Sheridan's  case,  been  found  to 
produce  certain  effects ;  which  effects  have  farther, 
in  the  case  of  Rush,  been  analyzed  and  classified 
in  detail,  in  accordance  with  the  psychological  con- 
dition primarily  producing  them.  But  we  have  in 
addition  a  most  satisfactory  elucidation  of  the  sub- 
ject from  the  stand-point  of  physiological  science, 
from  the  pen  of  Herbert  Spencer,  in  his  valuable 
article  on  "The  Origin  and  Functions  of  Music," 
in  which  he  also  treats  of  speech,  and  shows  that 
music  was  but  an  outgrowth  from  the  original  vo- 
cal sounds  of  spoken  language.  The  following  are 
a  few  extracts  upon  the  point  under  present  con- 
sideration : 

"All  v^ocal  sounds  are  produced  by  the  agency  of  certain 
muscles.*  These  muscles,  in  common  with  those  of  the  body 
at  large,  are  excited  to  contraction  by  pleasurable  and  pain- 
ful feelings,  and  therefore  it  is  that  feelings  demonstrate 
themselves  in  sounds  as  well  as  movements;  therefore  it  is 
that  Carlo  barks  as  well  as  leaps  when  he  is  let  out;  that 
puss  purs  as  well  as  erects  her  tail;  that  the  canary  chirps 
as  well  as  flutters.  Therefore  it  is  that  the  angry  lion  roars 
while  he  lashes  his  sides,  and  the  dog  growls  while  he  re- 
tracts his  lips.  Therefore  it  is  that  the  maimed  animal  not 
only  struggles  but  howls;  and  it  is  from  this  cause  that,  in 
human  beings,  bodily  suffering  expresses  itself,  not  only  in 
contortions,  but  in  shrieks   and   groans, — that   in  anger,  and 


*That  the  vocal  chords  are  a  muscular  organism,  and  that  the 
act  of  breathing  is  also  performed  by  muscular  agencies,  are  well- 
known  physiological  facts. 


142         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

fear,  and  grief,  the  gesticulations  are  accompanied  by  shouts 
and  screams, — that  dehghtful  sensations  are  followed  by  ex- 
clamations, and  we  hear  screams  of  joy  and  shouts  of  exul- 
tation. We  have  here,  then,  a  principle  underlying  all  vocal 
phenomena.  The  muscles  that  move  the  chest,  larynx,  and 
vocal  chords,  contracting  like  other  muscles  in  proportion  to 
the  intensity  of  the  feelings;  every  different  contraction  of 
these  muscles  involving,  as  it  does,  a  different  adjustment  of 
the  vocal  organs ;  every  different  adjustment  of  the  vocal  or- 
gans causing  a  change  in  the  sound  emitted ; — it  follows  that 
the  variations  of  voice  are  the  physiological  results  of  varia- 
tions of  feeling;  it  follows  that  each  inflection  or  modula- 
tion is  the  natural  outcome  of  some  passing  emotion  or  sen- 
sation; and  it  follows  that  the  explanation  of  all  kinds  of 
vocal  expression  must  be  sought  in  this  general  relation  be- 
tween mental  and  muscular  excitements." 

After  having  illustrated  this  point  by  a  number 
of  valuable  instances  of  the  various  modes  of  vocal 
expression,  which  it  will  be  more  directly  to  our 
purpose  to  quote  hereafter,   he  proceeds : 

"Thus  we  find  all  the  leading  vocal  phenomena  to  have 
a  physiological  basis.  They  are  so  many  manifestations  of 
the  general  law  that  feeling  is  a  stimulus  to  muscular  action  — 
a  law  conformed  to  throughout  the  whole  economy,  not  of 
man  only,  but  of  every  sensitive  creature — a  law,  therefore, 
which  lies  deep  in  the  nature  of  animal  organization.  The 
expressiveness  of  these  various  modifications  of  voice  is,  there- 
fore, innate.  Each  of  us,  from  babyhood  upwards,  has  been 
spontaneously  making  them,  when  under  the  various  sensa- 
tions and  emotions  by  which  they  are  produced.  Having 
been  conscious  of  each  feeling  at  the  same  time  that  we 
heard  ourselves  make  the  consequent  sound,  we  have  ac- 
quired an  established  association  of  ideas  between  such  sound 
and  the  feeling  which  caused  it.  When  the  like  sound  is 
made  by  another,  we  ascribe  the  like  feeling  to  him ;  and 
by  a  further   consequence   we    not  only   ascribe   to   him  that 


Voice  and  Geshire.  143 

feeling,  but  have  a  certain  degree  of  it  aroused  in  ourselves: 
for  to  become  conscious  of  the  feeling  which  another  is  ex- 
periencing, is  to  have  that  feeling  awakened  in  our  conscious- 
ness  All  speech,  then,  is  compounded  of  two  elements, — 

the  words  and  the  tones  in  which  they  are  uttered, — the  signs 
of  ideas,  and  the  signs  of  feelings.  While  certain  articulations 
express  the  thought,  certain  vocal  sounds  express  the  more 
or  less  of  pain  or  pleasure  which  the  thought  gives.  Using 
the  word  cadence  in  an  universally  extended  sense,  as  com- 
prehending all  modifications  of  voice,  ive  may  say  that  cadence 
is  the  comme/itafy  of  the  emotions  7ipon  the  propositions  of  the 
intellect.  This  duality  of  spoken  language,  though  not  for- 
mally recognized,  is  recognized  in  practice  by  every  one;  and 
every  one  knows  that  very  often  more  weight  attaches  to  the 
tones  than  to  the  words." 

From  this  stand-point,  then,  that  "mental  excite- 
ment of  all  kinds  ends  in  excitement  of  the  mus- 
cles," and  that  the  muscles  of  the  vocal  organism 
are  subject  to  this  universal  law,  Spencer  furnishes 
us  with  the  intermediate  link,  so  to  speak,  between 
the  primary  cause  already  recognized  in  the  state  of 
mind  and  the  ultimate  effect  as  expressed  in  vocal 
phenomena.  As  an  expression  of  the  ideas  of  the 
ancients  on  this  point,  we  have  the  words  of  Cicero : 

"Every  passion  of  the  heart  has  its  own  appropriate  look, 
tone,  and  gesture;  and  a  man's  whole  countenance,  his  whole 
body,  and  all  the  voices  of  his  mouth,  re-echo  like  the  strings 
of  a  harp  to  the  touch  of  every  emotion  in  his  soul." 

Thus  man  may  be  said  to  be  gifted  with  two 
forms  of  natural  language,  the  one  appealing  to  the 
eye,  and  the  other  to  the  ear,  both  expressive,  and, 
when  used  together,  powerful  beyond  compare. 
The  flash  of  the  eye,    the  contraction  of  the  brow, 


144         ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

or  its  sudden  lifting,  the  pallor  or  flush  of  the 
countenance,  the  compressed  lip  or  open  mouth, 
the  varied  movements  of  the  hands  and  arms,  the 
positive  indications  of  the  fingers ;  the  various  at- 
titudes of  the  body,  all  aid  in  conveying,  in  a  cer- 
tain  sense,    a  significant  expression. 

In  moments  of  extreme  passion  the  disturbing 
thoughts  may  be  mutely  expressed,  and  with  great 
power  and  effect,  by  these  alone ;  but  we  have 
innumerable  proofs  that  the  soul  is  more  nearly 
reached  through  the  ear  than  through  the  eye, 
therefore  the  language  oi  sound  is  far  superior  in 
its  range  and  power  of  expression  to  those  mute 
indications  of  the  state  of  the  mind,  embodied  in 
look  and  gesture. 

The  following  quotation  from  Canon  Farrar,  in 
which  he  embodies  the  opinions  of  Heyse,  Charma, 
and  Herder,  strongly  illustrates  the  point  under 
discussion : 

"It  is,  however,  easy  to  see  that  gesture  could  never  be 
a  perfect  means  of  intercommunication.  Energetic,  rapid, 
and  faithful,  it  is  yet  obscure,  because  it  is  sylleptic ;  i.  e.,  it 
expresses  but  the  most  general  facts  of  the  situation,  and  is 
incapable  of  distinguishing  or  decomposing  them,  and  wholly 
inadequate  to  express  the  delicate  shades  of  difference  of 
which  every  form  of  verbal  expression  is  capable.  The  flashing 
of  a  glance  may  belie  years  of  fulsome  panegyric;  a  sudden 
yawn  may  dissipate  the  effect  of  a  mass  of  compliments  poured 
out  during  hours  of  simulated  interest;  an  irrepressible  tear, 
a  stolen  and  smothered  sigh,  the  flutter  of  a  nerve,  or  the 
tremble  of  a  finger,  may  betray  the  secret  of  a  life  which  no 
words  could  ever  have  revealed.  The  veiled  and  silent  fig- 
ure of  Niobe  may  be  more  full  of  pathos  than  the  most  gar- 
rulous of  wailintr  elegies.     The  wounds  of  the  victor  of  Mar- 


Voice  and  Gesture.  145 

athon,  or  the  maimed  figure  of  the  brother  of  ^schyhis,  the 
unveiled  bosom  of  Phryne,  or  the  hand  pointing  to  the  Cap- 
itol which  Manlius  had  saved,  may  have  produced  effects 
more  thrilling  than  any  eloquence ;  but  such  appeals  were 
only  possible  at  moments  of  intense  passion,  or  under  a  pe- 
culiar combination  of  circumstances.  The  ancient  orators, 
well  aware  of  the  power  which  lies  in  these  mute  appeals, 
made  them  gradually  ridiculous  by  the  frequency  with  which 
they  employed  them;  and  the  introduction  of  a  weeping  boy 
upon  the  rostrum  would  produce  but  little  weight  when  many 
of  the  audience  knew  that  weeping  may  express  a  wide  va- 
riety of  emotions,  and  when  an  injudicious  question  as  to  the 
obscure  cause  of  these  moving  tears  might  elicit  the  mal- 
apropos complaint,  'the  master  flogged.' 

"In  moments  of  extreme  passion,  then,  a  language  of  ges- 
ture, a  language  appealing  to  the  eye  rather  than  to  the  ear, 
is  not  only  possible  but  extremely  powerful,  and  one  which 
will  never  be  entirely  superseded.  And  possibly  some  natures 
may  be  so  sensitive,  some  faces  so  expressive,  that  even  dur- 
ing the  most  peaceful  and  equable  moments  of  life,  the  pass- 
ing thought  may  touch  the  countenance  with  its  brightness  or 
its  gloom.  But  this  could  never  be  the  case  with  any  but  a 
few;  and  even  with  these,  what  attention  would  be  found 
equal  to  read  and  interpret,  without  fatigue,  symbols  and 
expressions  so  subtle  and  so  fugitive?  Moreover,  to  the  blind, 
and  to  all  during  the  darkness,  and  whenever  an  opaque  body 
intervened,  and  whenever  the  face  was  turned  in  another 
direction,  such  language  would  instantly  become  impossible. 
It  is  incapable  of  representing  the  distinctness  and  succes- 
siveness of  thought ;  it  is  limited  on  every  side  by  physical 
conditions;  it  requires  an  attention  too  exclusive  and  intense; 
it  would  reach  a  shorter  distance,  and  appeal  to  a  less  spirit- 
ual sense.  For,  though  both  sight  and  hearing  are  ideal  senses, 
as  distinguished  from  the  inferior  ones  of  touch  and  taste 
and  smell,  hearing  is  more  ideal  in  its  nature,  and  reaches 
more  nearly  to  the  soul  than  sight.  It  is  the  clearest,  liveli- 
est, and  most  instantaneously  affected  of  the  senses.  That 
which  is  seen  is  material,  and  remains  in  space;  but  that 
P.  s.  L.— 13. 


146         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Langicage. 

which  is  heard  (although  as  permanent  and  as  corporeal),  yet, 
to  our  blunt  senses,  has  a  purely  ideal  existence,  and  van- 
ishes immediately  in  time.  Hence,  sound  is  especially  adapted 
to  be  the  bearer,  and  the  ear  to  be  the  receiver  of  thought, 
which  is  an  activity  requiring  time  for  its  successive  devel- 
opments, and  is  therefore  well  expressed  by  a  succession  of 
audible  sounds.  Juxtaposition  in  space,  appealing  to  the  eye, 
could  only  remotely  and  analogously  recall  this  succession 
in  time.  Moreover,  hearing  requires  but  the  air,  the  most 
universal  of  all  mediums,  the  most  immediate  condition  of 
life;  whereas,  the  eye  requires  light  as  well,  and  is  far  more 
dependent  on  external  accidents.  The  fact  that  even  a 
sleeper  is  instantly  awoke  to  consciousness  by  the  tremor  of 
his  auditory  nerve  under  the  influence  of  the  voice,  is  a 
proof  of  the  impression  and  immediate  adaptability  of  sound 
to  the  exigencies  of  the  intellectual  life ;  so  that  hearing  is 
the  very  innermost  of  the  senses,  and  stands  in  the  strictest 
and  closest  connection  with  our  spiritual  existence.  The  ear 
is  the  ever-open  gateway  of  the  soul,  and,  carried  on  the  in- 
visible wings  of  sound,  there  are  ever  thronging  through  its 
portals,  in  the  guise  of  living  realities,  those  things  which  of 
themselves  are  incorporeal  and  unseen.  Wonderful,  indeed, 
that  a  pulse  of  articulated  air  should  be  the  only,  or,  at  any 
rate,  the  most  perfect,  means  wherewith  to  express  our  thoughts 
and  feelings.  Without  its  incomprehensible  points  of  union 
with  all  that  passes  in  a  soul  which  yet  seems  so  wholly  dis- 
similar from  it,  those  thoughts  and  emotions  could,  perhaps, 
have  no  distinct  existence — the  exquisite  organism  of  our 
hearing  would  have  been  rendered  useless,  and  the  entire 
plan  of  our  existence  would  have  remained  unperfected." 

Rush  divides  spoken  languages  into  two  kinds  — 
instinctive  or  natural,  and  artificial  or  verbal  —  shows 
us  that  a  union  of  the  natural  and  verbal  gives 
the  most  exact  and  impressive  vocal  representation 
of  the  logical  and  the  passionative  states  of  the 
mind. 


Voice  and  Gesture.  147 

First,  let  us  sec  what  is  the  full  meaning  of  the 
expression  natural  language.  To  quote  Sheridan 
again  in  this  connection,    he  says : 

"In  the  beginning,  barbarous  nations  have  nature  only  for 
their  guide  in  their  speech,  as  in  every  thing  else.  With  them, 
therefore,  all  changes  of  the  voice  and  the  different  notes 
and  inflections  used  in  uttering  their  thoughts,  were  the  re- 
sult of  the  a.cts  and  emotions  of  the  mind,  to  each  of  which 
nature  herself  has  assigned  her  peculiar  note.  In  a  calm 
state  of  mind  the  notes  of  the  voice,  in  unison  to  that  state, 
are  little  varied,  and  the  words  are  uttered  nearly  in  a  mono- 
tone.* When  the  mind  is  agitated  by  passion,  or  under  any 
emotion  whatever,  the  tones  expressive  of  such  passion  or 
emotion  spontaneously  break  forth,  being  unerring  signs  fixed 
to  such  internal  feelings  by  the  hand  of  nature,  and  common 
to  all  men  and  universally  intelligible,  in  the  same  manner 
as  the  sounds  and  cries  uttered  by  different  animals." 

It  has  been  said  that  by  one  of  nature's  laws 
nearly  every  thing  that  is  struck  rings,  and  that  so 
it  is  with  the  human  being.  The  passions  and  emo- 
tions, striking,  as  it  were,  upon  our  sensitive  or 
nervous  nature,  force  from  the  lips  certain  involun- 
tary cries  or  other  vocal  utterance,  as  the  tones  of 
the  bell  ring  out  in  response  to  the  stroke  of  the 
clapper,  f  The  sounds  of  the  voice  in  spontaneous 
utterance,  expressive  of  love,  grief,  hatred,  and  the 
other  emotions  and  passions,  are  natural  operations, 
therefore,  of  the  voice,  and  not  only  intelligible  in 
every  language  and  understood  by  all  of  our  own 
species,    but  also  by  the  lower   animals. 


*  This  last  assertion  is  too  sweeping,  hut  the  idea  as  to  the 
psychological  cause  for  corresponding   vocal  effects  is  well  stated. 

tin  the  words  of  Canon  Farrar,  expression,  by  a  law  of  nature, 
is  the  natural  and  spontaneous  result  of  iniprcssion. 


148  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Ltniguage. 

Speaking  in  reference  to  this  point,  Sheridan  says : 

"The  horse  rejoices  in  the  applauding  tones  of  his  rider's 
voice,  and  trembles  when  he  changes  them  to  those  of 
anger.  What  blandishments  do  we  see  in  the  dog  when 
his  master  soothes  him  in  kind  tones;  what  fear,  and  even 
shame,  when  he  changes  them  to  those  of  chiding.  By 
those  the  wagoner  directs  his  team  and  the  herdsman  his 
flock.  Even  animals  of  the  most  savage  nature  are  not 
proof  against  the  collective  tones  of  the  human  voice ;  and 
shouts  of  multitudes  will  put  wild  beasts  to  flight  who  can 
hear,  without  emotion,  the  roarings  of  thunder.  The  circum- 
stance is  singular,  that  the  ear,  from  the  influence  of  tones, 
should  excite  and  strengthen  compassion  so  much  more  pow- 
erfully than  the  eye.  The  sigh  of  a  brute  animal,  the  cry 
forced  from  him  by  bodily  suffering,  brings  about  him  all  his 
fellows,  who,  as  has  often  been  observed,  stand  mournfully 
round  the  sufferer,  and  would  willingly  lend  him  assistance. 
Man,  too,  at  the  sight  of  suffering,  is  more  apt  to  be  im- 
pressed with  fear  and  tremor  than  with  tender  compassion ; 
but  no  sooner  does  the  voice  of  the  sufferer  reach  him  than 
the  spell  is  dissolved,  and  he  hastens  to  him — he  is  pierced 
to  the  heart." 

Indeed,  so  closely  are  the  tones  of  voice  con- 
nected with  corresponding  mental  conditions  that 
the  most  impressive  effects  may  be  produced  by 
the  voice  sounds  alone,    independent  of  words. 

There  are  certain  cries  that  are  the  natural  and 
even  necessary  expression  of  the  stronger  impulses 
or  sensations  of  the  mind  —  certain  inarticulate 
bursts  of  feeling  to  which  men  give  utterance  when, 
in  the  vehemence  or  suddenness  of  some  pain, 
affliction,  or  passion,  they  seem  to  return  to  a 
state  of  nature,  losing,  for  the  moment,  the  con- 
ventional  or  verbal    forms  of   speech.      These  cries 


Voice  and  Gesture.  149 

are  retained  in  all  languages  unchanged  (except  as 
modified  in  degree  and  quality  of  sound  by  the 
prevailing  national  temperament),  and  used  alike  by 
all  races  of  to-day.     Says  Sheridan  again : 

"The  tones  expressive  of  sorrow,  lamentation,  mirth,  joy, 
hatred,  love,  pity,  etc.,  although  usually  accompanied  with 
words,  in  order  that  the  understanding  may,  at  the  same 
time,  perceive  the  cause  of  these  emotions  by  a  communica- 
tion of  the  particular  idea?  which  e>fcite  them  ;  yet,  that  the 
whole  energy  or  power  of  exciting  analogous  emotions  in 
others,  lies  in  the  tones  themselves,  may  be  known  from  this: 
that  whenever  the  force  of  these  passions  is  extreme,  words 
give  place  to  inarticulate  sounds.  Sighs  and  murmurings  in 
love;  sobs,  groans,  and  cries  in  grief;  half-choked  sounds  in 
rage  ;  and  shrieks  in  terror  are  then  the  only  language  heard. 
And  the  experience  of  mankind  may  be  appealed  to  whether 
these  have  not  more  power  in  exciting  sympathy  than  any 
thing  that  can  be  done  by  mere  words." 

To  give  a  familiar  illustration  of  this  expressive 
character  of  inarticulate  sounds,  I  was  once  wait- 
ing in  the  ante-room  of  a  dentist,  when  my  atten- 
tion was  suddenly  arrested  by  a  loud  cry  from  the 
next  room,  which,  after  continuing  for  a  moment 
or  two  at  the  utmost  altitude  of  pitch,  suddenly 
dropped  to  the  lowest  audible  sound,  and  termina- 
ted in  an  extended  groan  or  grunt.  The  two  ex- 
tremes of  vocality  were  so  expressive  as  to  require 
no  explanation  of  their  meaning.  The  shrill  scream 
said  more  plainly  than  words,  "Oh,  how  terribly 
it  hurts!"  While  the  groans  into  which  the  cry 
suddenly  changed  was  quite  as  clearly  expressive 
of  "Oh,  thank  heaven,  it's  over!"  Instances  of  a 
similar  character  could  be  multiplied  indefinitely,  all 


150         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

illustrating  the  expressive  power  of  sound  in  the 
speaking  voice.  In  all  languages  may  be  found  a 
large  number  of  interjectional  words,  traceable  to 
these  instinctive  cries,  expressive  of  fear,  anger, 
pleasure,  astonishment,  sorrow,  compassion,  disgust, 
and  other  similar  feelings,  and  produced  by  impres- 
sions received  from  without  chiefly  through  the 
senses  of  sight  and  hearing.  However  merely  ani- 
mal in  their  nature  these  interjections  may  have 
been  originally,  they  were  most  probably  the  first 
to  acquire  the  dignity  and  significance  of  speech, 
since  these  utterances  must  have  expressed  so  dis- 
tinctly and  vividly  to  the  hearer,  by  the  association 
of  ideas,  the  feelings  or  sensations  of  which  they 
were  the  energetic  and  spontaneous  expression.  In 
the  language  of  Herder,  "They  were  the  sparks 
of  Promethian  fire  which  kindled  language  into  life." 
They  form,  in  the  truthfulness  and  simplicity  of 
their  characters,  one  of  the  chief  glories  of  language, 
and  have  added  a  singular  force  and  charm  to  the 
impassioned  utterances  of  poetry.  Many  an  ex- 
quisite passage  owes  its  beauty  and  pathos  to  these 
earliest  elements  of  speech,  as  in  the  following  lines 
from  Wordsworth : 

"She  lived  unknown, — and  few  might  know 
When   Lucy  ceased  to  be ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave, — and  oh, 
The  difference  to  me  !  " 

It  is  related  of  the  celebrated  preacher  Whitfield 
that  he  threw  a  world  of  pathos  and  meaning  ■ — pity 
for  the  unconverted  sinner,  and  sorrow  for  his  hard- 
ness of  heart  ^  into  such  interjectional  expressions 


Voice  and  Gesture.  i  5  i 

as  "Ah,  my  friend!"  and  "Oh,  my  brother!," 
which  gave  him  a  power  over  the  human  lieart 
that  was  wonderful.  It  was  the  appeal  of  the  nat- 
ural man  to  the  natural  man,  as  it  were,  through 
the  universal  medium  of  sympathetic  communica- 
tion. 


Chapter  II. 

The  Development  of  Language. 

In  view  of  the  preceding  facts  and  statements,  it 
is  not  difficult  to  believe  that  sounds  without  verbal 
or  conventional  forms  were  the  first  means  of  com- 
munication between  man  and  man  ;  and  that  these 
first  utterances  must  have  consisted  in  the  expres- 
sion of  emotion  and  passion,  since  the  conventional 
language  of  ideas  was  necessarily  a  gradual  growth, 
not  disconnected,  as  we  shall  see,  with  the  natural 
language,  but  more  independent  of  it  than  the  lan- 
guage of  feeling  and  passion. 

However  men  may  disagree  as  to  the  modes  and 
means  by  which  primal  man  attained  to  the  almost 
fabulous  achievement,  —  a  starting-point  in  the  pro- 
gressive stages  of  intelligent  speech,  —  all  will  agree 
that  the  vocal  organs  of  the  human  being  were 
created  for  the  purposes  of  language ;  so  we  may 
conclude  that  the  intelligence  of  man  prompted  him, 
by  untiring  efforts,  to  consummate  the  vocal  effects 
which  the  mechanism  of  the  voice  was  created  to 
produce.  It  has  been  said  that  each  man  is  in  all 
things  an  epitome  of  the  race.  Following  this 
idea  in  the  matter  of  language,  take  the  infant  in 
the  cradle,  or  before  the  period  when  he  seeks  to 
(153) 


Development  of  Language.  153 

express  himself  in  articulated  sounds,  and  we  have 
the  type  of  the  infancy  of  language,  while  inarticu- 
late sound  was  as  yet  the  primary  means  of  com- 
munication between  human  beings.  Here  we  see 
the  expressive  vocality  as  exhibited  in  a  natural 
effort  to  attract  sympathetic  attention  or  to  com- 
municate wants,  and  the  power  of  vocal  utterance, 
independent  of  fixed  verbal  forms ;  for  the  mother 
understands  the  cooing,  whining,  or  droning  of 
the  babe,  or  its  iterated  particles  of  sound,  its  spas- 
modic sobs  or  more  extended  sighs  or  wails,  as 
natural  signs  of  the  state  of  the  quiet  mind  or  ex- 
cited feelings.  In  the  more  advanced  stage  of  de- 
velopment, these  vocal  signs  become  involved  with 
the  verbal  or  conventional,  and,  as  life  progresses, 
their  combined  effects  are  used  in  the  communica- 
tion of  thought  or  the  expression  of  emotion  or 
passion. 

The  subject  of  the  growth  of  language — or,  rather, 
of  the  principles  underlying  its  growth  —  is  one,  not 
only  of  interest  to  the  student  of  elocution,  but 
also  of  the  greatest  importance ;  as,  by  going  back 
to  the  origin  of  conventional  or  verbal  forms,  it  re- 
veals the  many  close  ties  that  unite  sound  and 
sense  in  our  speech,  as  well  as  the  resemblance 
to  be  found  between  the  latter  and  the  various 
sounds  throughout  nature.  Its  study  will  thus  teach 
him  to  observe  the  great  value  of  sound  as  em- 
bodied in  the  vocal  forms  of  spoken  language,  and 
thus  enable  him  to  trace  its  vitalizing  character  as 
an  agent  of  expressive  effect  in  reading,  and  in 
dramatic  or  oratorical  speech.     The  constitution  and 


154         ^  P^^<^  f'^'''  Spoken  Language. 

materials,  then,  of  the  living,  breathing  w^/ir/ becomes 
a  subject  of  the  first  importance.  We  have  seen 
that  the  real  or  vocal  elements  of  language  were 
provided,  by  divine  law,  in  the  nature  and  instincts 
of  the  primitive  man.  His  emotional  and  imitative 
cries  furnished  the  means  by  which  he  was  enabled 
to  express  his  own  sensations,  and  to  recall  the 
most  striking  objects  and  influences  that  surrounded 
him.-''  All  the  sounds  of  nature  were  called  upon 
to  contribute  their  share  to  the  growing  speech. 
The  voices  of  living  animals ;  the  rustling  and  whis- 
pering of  the  forest  leaves ;  the  booming  of  the 
surging  sea  upon  the  shore ;  the  howl  and  shriek 
of  the  voices  of  the  storm ;  the  boiling,  seething, 
rushing,  and  roaring  of  the  cataract ;  the  rippling 
murmur  of  the  brook ;  and  the  sighing  cadences  of 
the  wind; — all  were  adopted  by  man  for  his  use  in 
the  art  of  articulate  language :  and  all  the  senses, 
the  memory,   the  understanding,  the  will,   were  ac- 


*  These  interjections,  intimating  generally  a  desire  to  command, 
or  to  convey  significant  meaning  to  some  other  person,  have 
been  called  by  the  German  writers  lantgcbcrden  or  begeituii^slauU, 
vocal  gesture  or  sounds  of  desire.  They  are  found  in  the  ut- 
terances, st !  sh!,  and  were  called  vocal  gestures  because  they  are 
often  connected  with  gestures,  and  can  be  represented  by  them  ; 
as,  "sh!",  with  the  finger  on  the  lips,  and  "  st !  ",  an  equiva- 
lent to  "hark,"  with  the  finger  beckoning  or  raised  to  the 
ear.  Being  mainly  consonantal,  they  approach  nearer,  in  their 
origin  to  the  complicated  articulations  of  speech  than  the  class 
of  interjections  first  alluded  to,  in  which  the  consonants  play  a 
very  subordinate  part;  and  they  differ  from  them  in  being,  not 
merely  the  expression  of  a  passive  feeling,  but  the  energetic  ut- 
terance of  will,  while  they  also  correspond  to  an  important  step 
in  the  advance  of  human  intelligence.  Hush!  hist!  hark!  ahoy! 
hallo  !  and  all  similar  cries  belong  to  this  class  of  words,  besides 
all  the  isolated  monosyllables  or  longer  words  by  which  we  invite 
or  repel  the  approach  of  others,  or  encourage  or  check  their  efforts. 


Development  of  Language.  155 

tivcly  enijaged  in  giving  form  and  growth  to  this 
important  art.  The  merely  interjectional  and  imi- 
tative cries,  or  verbal  impulses,  that  were  originally 
employed  to  express  the  feelings  or  recall  number- 
less objects  and  influences  of  the  outward  world, 
received  positive  syllabic  form  and  outline  from  the 
articulative  modifications  that  are  ever  at  work  in 
language.* 

Of  course  the  impulsive  imitative  effort  to  repro- 
duce sounds  in  the  formation  of  language,  was  not 
to  make  identical  representations  of  the  original 
sound,  but  an  effort  to  reproduce  the  impression 
such  influences  made  upon  the  mind.  Thus  each 
race,  possessing  different  mental  and  temperamental 
characteristics,  would  differ  in  the  verbal  expression 


■•'■"It  is  a  curious  and  interesting  fact  that  even  among  un- 
civilized nations  we  find  what  appears  to  be  a  trace,  mythologi- 
cally  expressed,  of  this  same  conception ;  viz.,  that  it  was  the 
mighty  diapason  of  nature  which  furnished  man  with  the  tones 
which  he  modulated  into  articulate  speech.  The  Esthonian  le- 
gend of  the  kettle  of  boiling  water  which  'the  aged  one'  placed 
on  the  fire,  and  from  the  hissing  and  boiling  of  which  the  vari- 
ous nations  learned  their  languages  and  dialects,  mythically  rep- 
resents the  Kesselberg,  with  its  crests  enveloped  in  the  clouds  of 
summer  steam,  which  they  regarded  as  the  throne  of  the  thun- 
der-god ;  and  the  languages  which  it  distributes  are  the  rolling 
echoes  of  thunder  and  lightning,  storm  and  rain.  They  have  an- 
other and  still  more  beautiful  legend,  of  a  similar  character,  to 
explain  the  origin  of  Long  or  Festal  speech.  The  god  of  song, 
Waunemunne,  descended  on  the  Domberg,  on  which  stands  a 
sacred  wood,  and  there  played  and  sang.  All  creatures  were  in- 
vited to  listen,  and  they  each  learned  some  fragment  of  the  celestial 
sound  ;  the  listening  wood  learnt  its  rustling;  the  stream  its  roar; 
the  wind  caught  and  learned  to  re-echo  the  shrillest  tones,  and 
the  birds  the  prelude  of  the  song.  Tbe  fish  stuck  up  their  heads 
as  far  as  the  eyes  out  of  the  water,  but  left  their  ears  under  water  ; 
they  saw  the  movements  of  the  god's  mouth,  and  imitated  them, 
but  remained  dumb.  Man  only  grasped  it  all;  and  therefore  his 
song  pierces  into  the  depths  of  the  heart,  and  upwards  to  the 
dwellings  of  the  gods."  —  Fnrmr. 


156        A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

of  these  impressions  as  the  national  characteristics 
and  circumstances  of  chmate,  etc.,  differed.  In  ad- 
dition to  this  change  from  the  original  sounds  at- 
tendant upon  an  imitated  impression,  there  was  also 
another  produced  by  the  operations  of  the  vocal 
organs,  —  the  sounds  of  nature  being  inarticulate, 
but  in  speech  becoming  articulate.  This  point  may 
be  illustrated  by  the  fact  that  a  little  child  may 
readily  learn  to  imitate  the  crow  of  a  cock  by 
making  use  of  but  one  capacity  of  his  voice  ;  but 
he  is  more  apt  to  articulate  the  impression  he  has 
received  of  the  cock's  crow,  and  cock-a-doodle-do 
becomes  the  sign  of  the  sound  that  he  thus  imi- 
tates. The  varied  forms  which  many  words  have 
assumed  in  different  languages,  and  which  are  yet 
all  directly  inspired  by  the  imitative  principle,  shows 
that  ' '  what  the  eye  sees,  and  the  ear  hears,  de- 
pends in  no  small  manner  upon  the  brain  and 
heart";  or,  as  we  have  before  suggested,  upon  the 
mental  and  temperamental  alembic  through  which 
impressions  pass  before  their  reproduction  by  the 
voice.  The  imitative  crow,  before  referred  to,  of 
"cock-a-doodle-doo,"  is  changed,  in  other  languages, 
into  "hicken-hoe"  and  a  variety  of  other  articu- 
lated forms ;  and  yet,  in  all  of  them,  it  is  a  merely 
imitated  impression.  We  are  told  that,  during  the 
time  of  the  enthusiasm  among  the  French  people, 
upon  the  return  of  Bonaparte  from  Elba,  the  sound 
of  the  cock-crow  became  to  their  ears  a  distinct 
exclamation,  and  they  confidently  believed  and  de- 
clared they  heard  every  cock  shout  distinctly, 
* '  Vive  r  Empereur  !  " 


Development  of  Language.  1 5  7 

The  spirit  of  spoken  language  is  so  far  lost  in 
its  printed  reproductions  upon  paper,  that  it  is  some- 
times difficult  to  discover  the  close  sound  resemblance 
of  imitative  words  through  their  changes  of  form 
in  different  languages.  Bang  in  English,  and  pouf 
in  French,  arc  both  imitative  of  the  sound  of  a 
gun,  and  yet  how  much  unlike  they  seem  when 
written.  Though,  in  this  case,  the  English  word 
probably  imitates  the  sound  of  the  explosion,  and 
the  French  the  flash  from  the  powder,  showing  how 
in  one  language  one  impression  connected  with  a 
certain  thing  may  be  the  object  of  imitation,  while 
in  another,  a  different  feature  of  the  same  thing 
may  have  made  a  deeper  impression,  producing  a 
totally  dissimilar  result  in  its  verbal  form  of  ex- 
pression. Coleridge  speaks  of  the  nightingale's 
tone  as  it  "  Murmurs,  musical  and  sweet,  jug,  jug;  " 
while  Tennyson  writes,  in  the  person  of  a  peasant 
woman,  "Whit,  whit,  whit,  in  the  bush  beside  me, 
chirrupt  the  nightingale."  And  the  Turkish  poet, 
still  trying  to  reproduce  the  same  sounds,  calls  the 
bird  a   "bul-bul. " 

The  sounds  produced  by  the  mass  of  inanimate 
objects  generally  indicate  clearly  to  us  their  char- 
acter and  properties.  The  clang  of  the  various 
metals,  from  the  deep  reverberations  of  iron  to  the 
tremulous  shiver  of  steel,  and  the  sharp  tinkling 
of  brass  and  tin ;  the  whisper  and  splash  of  co- 
hesionless  liquids ;  the  crackle  and  blare  and  roar 
of  flame  ;  the  ringing  resonance  of  stone  and  mar- 
ble ;  the  creaking  of  green  boughs ;  the  ripping 
of  splintered    wood ;  the    chink    of  glass,    and    the 


158  A  Plea  for  Spokeii  Language. 

dull  thud  of  soft  and  yielding  bodies ;  the  discon- 
tinuous rattle  of  their  dry  substances,  and  the  flap 
and  rustle  of  woven  fabrics  in  the  wind;— all  of 
these  sounds,  and  thousands  more,  are  capable  of 
articulate  imitation,  and  have  been  adopted  into 
laneuagfe  in  the  form  of  words,  whose  sounds  are 
indicative  or  suggestive  of  their  meaning. 

Sheridan  has,  perhaps,  amongst  the  whole  range 
of  writers  on  the  subject  of  words  most  thoroughly 
combined  a  theoretical  and  practical  knowledge  of 
their  vocal  properties.  Perhaps  better  analyses  of 
the  mere  alphabet  have  been  made  by  others,  but 
the  value  of  letters  in  their  combinations  has  not 
been  so  thoroughly  investigated,  or  so  completely 
explained  by  any  other  writer  within  our  knowledge. 
He  says : 

"As  the  nature  of  syllables  depends  upon  the  nature  of 
the  letters  whereof  they  are  composed,  some  coalescing  with 
ease,  and  others  not  mixing  without  difficulty ;  so  the  nature 
of  words  depends  upon  the  same  principle;  and  they  are 
harsh  or  smooth  to  the  ear  in  proportion  as  each  subsequent 
syllable  is  with  ease  or  difficulty  pronounced  after  each  pre- 
ceding one.  Their  strength  or  weakness  also  evidently  de- 
pends upon    those  properties    in  their  component  syllables." 

He  then  refers  to  the  imitative  or  mimical  words, 
the  sound  of  which  is  indicative  of  the  sense,  as 
derived  from  the  cries  of  animals  or  from  sounds 
in  nature.  He  tells  us  that  among  vowels,  the  a 
(awe)  was  borrowed  from  the  crow ;  the  a  (hate) 
from  the  sheep ;  the  a  (bat)  from  the  goat ;  the  0 
(prove)  from  the  dove ;  the  0  (note)  from  the  ox  ; 
the  ow  from  the  dog,   etc.      Of  the  consonants,  \vc 


Development  of  Language.  159 

borrow  h  from  the  sheep ;  k  from  the  crow ;  in  from 
the  ox ;  s  from  the  serpent ;  tJi,  in  thistle,  from  the 
goose.  Of  inanimate  objects,  f  resembles  the  sound 
of  the  wind  blowing  through  apertures ;  v,  the  rapid 
movements  of  spinning-wheels ;  sJi,  the  sound  of 
rockets  previous  to  explosion ;  s,  the  flight  of  an 
arrow  ;  ng,  the  terminal  sound  of  a  bell.  The  mutes 
and  short  vowels  are  best  filled  to  express  short 
sounds ;  the  semi-vowels  (liquids)  and  long  vowels, 
sounds  of  continuance.  The  semi-vowels,  the  clear; 
the  mutes,  the  obtuse  sounds.  The  aspirated  letters 
in  combination,  the  strong;  the  simple,  the  weaker 
sounds.  Thus  we  have  glide,  grow,  tap,  pat,  slap, 
kick,  pit,  mink,  but,  stop,  stab,  step,  quit,  back, 
break,  tall,  leap,  move,  loiter,  groan,  gloat,  lead, 
alive,  gurgle,  murmur,  enduring,  ring,  bright,  clear, 
laugh,  bell,  light,  sheen,  glimmer,  liquid,  lively, 
little,  dark,  third,  throb,  knock,  plant,  pack,  dump, 
.knot,  abut,  despotic,  harsh,  hiss,  firm,  stiff,  sheet, 
shout,  fetter,  horrible,  weak,  loft,  flow,  steam, 
smooth,    sing,    sweet,    lure,    easy. 

There  is  also  an  expressive  power  in  words  which 
represent  ideas  that  come  into  the  mind  through 
the  other  senses  (beside  that  of  hearing),  and  which, 
though  from  the  nature  of  things  they  can  not  have 
the  least  similarity  to  those  ideas,  yet  have  a  cer- 
tain congruity  with  them,  which  makes  them  fitter 
to  represent  those  ideas  than  words  of  a  different 
construction.  To  illustrate,  words  beginning  with 
the  consonants  str,  signify  force  and  general  exer- 
tion of  force. 

Strong,  strive,  struggle,  stretch,  strenuous,  stress, 


1 60         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

strike,    stroke,    string,    strew,    strict,    strangle,    strict- 
ure,   straggle. 

As  will  be  seen  by  these  examples,  the  first 
letter  in  this  combination  is  formed  by  the  sharp 
force  of  the  breath  in  a  hissing  sound,  which  is 
interrupted  by  the  pure  mute  /,  that  borrows  its 
sound,  not  from  a  vowel,  but  from  the  semi-vowel 
r,  with  which  it  unites  itself  with  difficulty,  and 
therefore  occasions  the  harsh  sound  of  the  roughest 
and  strongest  of  the  consonants  to  be  heard  in  full 
force.  When  the  r  is  omitted,  and  st  only  begins 
the  syllable,  it  is  still  expressive  of  strength,  but 
in  a  less  degree  and  without  so  much  exertion,  as : 
stand,  stay,  steadfast,  sturdy,  stiff,  stagger,  stamp, 
stanch,  stare,  steer,  and  a  few  nouns  which  do  not 
so  exactly  express  the  idea  of  the  others.  TJir 
marks  violent  motion ;  as,  throw,  thrust,  throng, 
thrive,  throttle.  There  are  but  few  words  of  this 
composition. 

Sw  marks  a  silent  agitation,  or  a  gentle  and  more 
equable  motion,  as  swim,  sway,  swell,  swath,  swift, 
sweat,  swerve,  swagger,  swaddle,  sweep,  swash, 
swab,  swan.  Apparently  swear,  sweeten,  swindle, 
and  sword  do  not  answer  the  conditions.  Sp  de- 
notes a  dissipation,  or  expansion,  and  generally  a 
quick  one ;  as,  spit,  sputter,  speak,  spread,  spell, 
sprinkle,  spin,  split,  spear,  '  splash,  sparkle,  spoil, 
spade,  spike,  spangle,  spank.  In  the  word  spar- 
kle, sp  denotes  dissipation ;  ar,  accute  crackling ; 
k,  a  sudden  interruption,  and  /,  a  frequent  itera- 
tion. SI  denotes  motion,  but  of  a  more  equable 
kind ;    as,    slow,    slant,    slur,    slice,    slobber,    sliver. 


Development  of  Language.  i6i 

slouch,  sling,  slacken  ;  and,  doubtfully,  slap,  slander, 
sleek,    slave,    slumber,    slay. 

Ash,  as  a  termination,  indicates  something  acting 
nimbly  and  sharply:  clash,  slash,  gash,  crash; 
while  7isJi,  similarly  used,  implies  acting  forcibly, 
though  not  with  such  nimbleness  or  smartness ;  as, 
crush,  rush,  gush,  flush,  blush,  push.  lug,  terminal, 
implies  the  continuation  of  a  motion  or  tremor,  at 
length  indeed  vanishing,  but  not  suddenly  inter- 
rupted;  as,  swing,  sing,  sling,  sting;  while  ink, 
closing  with  a  pure  mute,  indicates  a  sudden  end- 
ing ;  as,  clink,  blink,  wink.  If  there  be  an  /  added 
to  those  terminations,  there  is  implied  a  frequent 
iteration  of  the  acts :  jingle,  tingle,  mingle,  tinkle, 
sprinkle,  twinkle.  But  still  the  acts  expressed  by 
ing  are  not  so  sudden  or  evanescent  as  those  by 
i)ik;  jingle  expresses  longer  duration  as  well  as 
something  more  forcible  than  tinkle,  mingle  than 
sprinkle,   tingle  than  twinkle. 

The  close  connection  existing  between  the  dif- 
ferent senses  is  constantly  making  itself  felt  in  this 
imitative  language  of  nature,  and  in  what  may  be 
regarded  as  its  highest  expression,  the  impassioned 
utterances  and  the  figures  of  poetry.  Thus  the 
analogy  formed  in  our  minds  between  the  phenom- 
ena of  light  and  sound  gives  us  the  corresponding 
words  of  sJieen  for  clear,  brightness  for  sound,  reflec- 
tion for  ccJio,  and  glininier  for  noise ;  glozv  and  clang 
seem  but  one  word ;  and  not  only  does  tone  cor- 
respond to  color,  but  all  the  different  colors  seem 
to  have  their  corresponding  tones.  There  is  a 
familiar  instance  in  the  story  of  a  blind  man  who, 

p.  S.  L.-14. 


1 62         A  Plea  for  Spoken  La7iguage . 

upon  being  asked  what  idea  he  had  of  scarlet,  re- 
plied that  it  was  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  A 
deaf  mute  has  been  known  also  to  liken  the  note 
of  a  trumpet  to  scarlet.  In  like  manner,  Gardiner, 
in  his  "Music  of  Nature,"  has  characterized  a 
number  of  musical  instruments  by  colors,  classing 
them  thus :  clarionet,  orange ;  oboe,  yellow ;  bas- 
soon, deep  yellow ;  flute,  sky  blue ;  diapason, 
deeper  blue ;  double  diapason,  purple ;  horn,  violet ; 
violin,  pink ;  viola,  rose ;  violincello,  red ;  double 
bass,  deep  crimson  red.  Akenside  speaks  of  tast- 
ing the  fragrance  of  a  rose,  and  Byron  of  '^  inhale 
ing  an  ambrosial  aspect.''  The^ adjectives  nice  and 
sweet,  which  properly  belong  to  taste  alone,  are 
indiscriminately  applied  to  all  things  that  are  pleas- 
ing ;  and  the  adjectives  soft,  sharp,  mild,  rough, 
smooth,  and  hard,  are  used  to  describe  objects, 
not  only  of  feeling,  but  also  of  sight,  of  taste, 
and  of  sound.  Leaving  out  the  merely  animal 
cries  and  the  interjections,  we  append  a  list  of 
words  where  the  sound  is  suggestive  of  the  sense, 
in  a  greater  or  less  degree : 

Flap,  roll,  gouts,  whizz,  rumble,  shout,  pop, 
thwart,  bang,  lull,  crack,  twirl,  rush,  moan,  whistle, 
shatter,  jostle,  jangle,  clink,  shout,  pour,  slam, 
thump,  peal,  smooth  hiss,  wrinkle,  bluster,  puff, 
hurry,  climb,  grope,  strick,  stagger,  brawl,  squall, 
shudder,  clatter,  log,  buzz,  lisp,  romp,  sputter, 
clap,  dreary,  crackle,  swathe,  crash,  rub,  quick, 
glide,  daub,  pull,  yell,  scream,  smash,  dash,  break, 
tear,   grate. 

The  same  principle  that  employed  the  sound  re- 


Develop7ne7it  of  Laitgiiagc.  163 

ceived,  through  the  one  sense  of  hearing,  to  illus- 
trate all  the  various  impressions  made  upon  the 
brain  from  without,  was  adopted  in  naming  the 
more  spiritual  and  intellectual  phenomena  of  the 
mind.  These,  though  intangible,  are  none  the  less 
really  felt,  and  a  resemblance  to  the  other  operations 
of  the  mind  having  been  discovered  in  them,  they 
were  represented  by  means  of  self-suggestive  sym- 
bols, chosen  and  combined  from  among  the  imita- 
tive and  interjectional  words  of  language.  The 
growth  of  language  must  at  all  times  have  been 
gradual  and  slow,  and  though  the  imagination,  so 
warm  and  strong  in  the  primitive  man,  was  actively 
engaged  in  creating  the  resources  of  speech  for  the 
wants  of  the  growing  intellect,  it  is  probable  that 
long  periods  passed  by  before  it  was  called  upon 
to  exert  its  sway  over  the  higher  realms  of  speech. 
A  high  degree  of  cultivation  was  required  to  ena- 
ble the  mind  to  give  distinct  shape  to  the  more 
abstract  ideas  or  principles,   and  thus  name  them.* 


-••  "But  although  at  first  the  intellect  be  but  a  passive  and  dor- 
mant faculty,  it  is  there,  and  it  is  the  sole  clue  wherewith  we  dis- 
entangle the  myriad  raveled  intricacy  of  sensuous  impressions, 
and  thus  the  senses  become  the  gateways  of  knowledge  ;  and  a 
man  born  without  the  capacity  for  external  sensations  would  also 
be  of  necessity  soulless  and  mindless,  because,  though  not  the 
single  source  of  all  our  thoughts  and  faculties,  the  senses  are  yet 
the  necessary  condition  of  their  development.  Thus  it  is  that 
the  senses,  during  the  earliest  days  of  man's  existence,  act  the 
part  of  nursing  mothers  to  the  soul,  to  which  afterwards  they 
become  the  powerful  and  obedient  handmaids.  They  are  the  or- 
gans of  communion  between  man  and  the  outer  world;  they 
place  him  en  rapport  with  it,  uniting  man  to  the  universe,  and 
men  to  one  another.  Thus  they  baptize  man  as  a  member  of 
the  moral  and  physical  cosmos,  and  awaken  thereby  the  intellect, 
which  would  otherwise  remain  infructuose,  like  an  unquickened 
seed." — Farrar. 


164  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

In  the  early  progress  of  language,  the  imagination 
was  predominant  at  every  step.  Nothing  was  too 
small,  nothing  too  great,  for  it  to  exercise  itself 
upon.  The  busy  and  wandering  soul  attributed  a 
portion  of  its  own  life  to  every  object  surrounding 
it,  and  it  seemed  impossible  to  regard  any  thing 
as  entirely  without  life.  To  many  ancient  nations, 
"the  earth  itself,"  says  Farrar,  "was  a  living 
creature ;  the  stars  were  divine  animals ;  and  the 
very  rainbow  lived,   and  drank  the  dew." 

In  the  Scriptures  we  find  remarkable  instances  of 
personification,  arising  from  the  vivid  imagination 
so  apparent  in  the  olden  languages.  These  tenden- 
cies of  early  language  to  attribute  an  active  life  to 
surrounding  nature,  and  a  sympathy  with  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  man,  are  reproduced  by  the  poetic 
instincts  within  us,  and  find  their  expression  in  our 
language  of  poetry ;  but,  in  the  ordinary  uses  of 
speech,  we  are  no  longer  under  the  dominion  of 
the  imagination  and  fancy. 

Metaphors  and  figures,  which  gave  so  much  pict- 
uresqueness  to  early  language,  are,  in  too  many 
cases,  comparatively  lost  in  the  refinement  of  style 
attending  civilization.  They  belong  now  almost  ex- 
clusively to  the  poet.  In  Shakespeare,  eminently 
our  poet  of  nature  and  imagination,  the  metaphors 
crowd  upon  each  other  with  such  richness  and  pro- 
fusion that  he  has  even  been  reproached  for  such 
luxuriance ;  but  it  is  this  that  makes  the  glory 
of  his  style ;  it  is  this  that  appeals  to  every  heart 
still  alive  to  the  sweet  kinship  between  man  and 
nature,   that,   for   our  own  pleasure  and   happiness, 


Development  of  Langaiige.  165 

should  never  be  lost  sight  of  in  our  communication 
with  each  other.  Metaphor  is  universal  in  language ; 
and,  in  the  more  ancient  tongues,  such  as  the  He- 
brew and  the  Arabic,  the  sway  of  fancy  and  imagina- 
tion is  to  be  seen  in  words,  "each  of  which,"  says 
Farrar,  "  is  a  picture,  whose  colors  are  still  bright 
and  clear."  But  as  civilization  advances,  and  the 
more  extensive  and  frequent  intercourse  among  men 
renders  clearness  of  style,  in  signifying  their  mean- 
ing to  each  other,  the  chief  object  of  attention,  the 
fancy  which  gave  birth  to  a  word  is  forgotten,  the 
picturesque  coloring  which  gave  it  meaning  in  its 
birth  is  lost,  and  the  word  too  often  is  allowed,  by 
ignoring  its  imitative  origin,  to  become  a  mere  ar- 
bitrary symbol,  having  no  connection  with  the  thing 
it  represents,  save  that  established  by  custom  and 
use.  We  are  all  constantly  using,  in  the  most  or- 
dinary employments  of  language,  metaphors  and 
other  figures,  of  which  we  are  unconscious,  that 
had  their  poetic  origin  when  the  imagination  of 
man  was  more  active.  One  of  the  characters  in  a 
well-known  French  comedy  is  surprised  to  learn 
that  he  has  been  talking  prose  all  his  life  without 
being  aware  of  it.  A  glimpse  into  first  use  of 
words  and  phrases  may  surprise  some  of  us  still 
more  by  the  discovery  that  we  have  been  talking 
poetry  all  our  lives  without  knowing  it.  Indeed, 
it  is  a  necessary  matter  for  the  artistic  reader  to 
discover  this  poetic  element,  if  he  would  give  to 
language  its  full  force,  fervor,  and  power,  when  the 
requirements  of  his  author's  language  demand  such 
expression. 


1 66         A  Pica  for  Spoken  Language. 

To  sum  up  briefly  Sheridan's  masterly  views  on 
the  subject  of  the  development  of  speech,  he  states 
that  by  the  growth  of  language  through  the  intel- 
ligence of  man,  and  the  more  active  exercise  of 
his  higher  faculties,  the  mere  animal  rudeness  of 
natural  sounds  became  modified  by  their  association 
with  the  conventional  forms,  and  new  vocal  beau- 
ties and  graces  were  consequently  developed ;  but 
that,  through  all  these  changes,  the  natural  signifi- 
cance of  the  sounds  of  the  voice  has  been  largely 
preserved. 

Herbert  Spencer  expresses  the  same  idea  in  his 
treatment  of  the  subject,  showing  that,  while  the 
higher  intelligence  has  refined  upon  the  simplicity 
of  nature,  making  the  forms  of  communication  be- 
tween men  more  complex  and  comprehensive  than 
in  the  beginning,  still  the  natural  language  of  sound 
retains,    through  all  changes,  its  original  attributes. 

Sheridan  assumes  that  in  the  transition  stages  of 
a  language,  from  the  early  natural  sounds  to  the 
polished  utterance  of  high  civilization,  the  tones  of 
the  voice  were,  out  of  caprice  and  a  natural  love 
of  variety  amongst  mankind,  given  fantastic,  and 
hence  unmeaning,  forms ;  which  tones,  in  the  fur- 
ther progress  of  intelligence  and  judgment,  gave 
way,  in  their  turn,  to  the  original  expression  of 
nature ;  chastened  and  modified,  however,  by  the 
many  affecting  influences  of  civilization  or  cosmo- 
politan intercourse,  but  still  having  as  much,  if  not 
more,  vocal  significance  than  the  original  language. 
He  accounts  in  this  way  for  the  peculiarities  of 
intonation    to    be    found    with    people    of    different 


Development  of  Language.  167 

provinces  of  the  same  country,  who,  when  fused 
into  one  society  at  any  center,  lose  their  pecuHar- 
ities  of  habit  in  vocal  utterance,  and  return,  more 
or  less  nearly,  to  the  simplicity  of  nature.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  a  practical  observation  can  not  but  as- 
sure one  of  the  fact  that  in  the  sounds  of  the  voice, 
or  the  vocal  signs,  in  the  language  of  civilization,  lies 
the  vivifying,  active  principle  ever  accompanying  the 
signs  of  the  intelligence,  and  equally,  if  not  more 
vividly,  descriptive  of  the  varying  states  of  the 
mind. 

Gummere,  whom  we  have  already  mentioned  as 
being  an  able  writer  on  the  Rush  philosophy,  has 
the  following  apt  remarks  illustrative  of  this  point: 

"Those  who  speak  the  Enghsh  language  use  a  certain  set 
of  sounds  to  communicate  any  idea,  while  the  French,  the 
',:)anish,  or  the  Germans  will  not  only  use  different  sounds 
from  ours  to  convey  the  same  idea  or  thought,  but  each 
will  use  different  sounds  from  all  the  others.  The  language 
of  emotion  or  passion  does  not  thus  vary  according  to  the 
nationality  of  the  speaker.  If  you  hear  a  person  speaking 
under  the  influence  of  emotion,  such  as  sorrow,  anger,  or 
scorn,  you  have  no  difficuUy  in  recognizing  that  emotion,  al- 
though you  may  not  understand  a  word  that  he  utters 

We  must  therefore  conclude  that  the  languge  of  emotion  is 
co-extensive  with  our  species." 

So,  language  becomes,  in  an  advanced  stage  of 
development,  such  as  our  own  represents  to-day, 
equally  an  exponent  of  intelligence,  of  feeling,  and 
of  imagination.  The  tendency  of  our  education 
seems  to  be  to  consider  it  chiefly  as  the  vehicle 
of  intelligence,  but  we  can  not  fail  to  see  that  by 
so  doing  we   are  ignoring  the  vitalizing  and   spirit- 


1 68  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

ualizing  essence  which  was  first  breathed  into  it 
from  the  heart  and  imagination  of  man.  We  are 
still  nearer  to  the  language  of  nature  than  we  re- 
alize, even  in  the  most  polished  and  elegant  of 
tongues.  The  bond  which  unites  the  feeling,  the 
imagination,  and  the  intelligence  into  one  irresisti- 
ble power  in  the  living  spoken  language,  is  too 
vital  a  matter  to  be  ignored  in  the  development 
of  its  full  perfections,  and  too  strong  a  tie  ever  to 
be  severed  in  any  language  spoken  by  a  race  of 
intelligent,  imaginative,  and  emotional  beings.  As 
a  proof  of  the  last  assertion  we  have  but  to  in- 
stance the  utter  failure  on  record  of  those  who 
have  attempted  from  the  stand-point  of  intellect 
alone  to  invent  a  philosophical  or  purely  arbitrary 
language,  appealing  only  to  the  intelligence,  as  in 
the    case  of  Bishop  Wilkins,    Leibnitz,   and  others. 


Chapter  III. 

Significance  of  Sounds. 

Rush  tells  us  that  it  is  "the  union  of  an  arbi- 
trary verbal  designation  of  a  state  of  mind  with  its 
natural  vocal  sign,  that  constitutes  the  true  and 
essential  means  of  expression  in  speech."  As  each 
word  therefore  is  indicative  of  some  idea,  so  each 
vocal  sound  accompanying  its  utterance  has  also 
a  special  significance  of  its  own.  Every  idea,  emo- 
tion, or  thought  having  its  generic  vocal  sign,  —  a 
level  line  of  sound  has  its  peculiar  meaning ;  a  leap 
of  the  voice,  either  in  altitude  or  depression,  has 
its  own  signification ;  a  wave  of  the  voice,  either 
in  the  graceful  flow  of  its  movements  or  its  swell- 
ing fullness  of  sound,  has  its  varying  degrees  of 
expressive  effects.  An  abruptness  of  voice  has  a 
meaning  of  its  own ;  a  prolonged  loudness  has  a 
certain  fitness ;  a  vocality  of  continued  softness  pos- 
sesses a  purpose  of  its  own.  Slowness  and  rapid- 
ity of  utterance  are  opposite  effects  of  extreme 
conditions ;  fullness  and  force  of  sound  are  equally 
so.  All  of  these  and  other  natural  modifications 
of  vocality.  Rush  has  clearly  described  and  classi- 
fied under  the  heads,  or  divisions,  of  Force,  Time, 
Pitch,    Abruptness,   and  Quality,    which   include  all 

p.  S.  L.-15.  (  169  ) 


1 70         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

the  forms  and  modifications  of  the  vocal  concrete, 
and  which  will  be  fully  explained   hereafter. 

The  conventional  form  of  words,  as  Sheridan's 
analysis  of  their  constituent  elements  may  have 
suggested,  has  much  to  do  with  their  power  to 
take  on  the  various  natural  attributes  of  expression 
embodied  in  the  varieties  of  the  above  forms,  as 
the  student  will  be  better  able  to  realize  after  a 
careful  study  into  the  individual  elements  which  go 
to  make  up  syllables  and  words. 

A  glance  again  into  the  intimate  connection  be- 
tween the  sound  and  the  sense,  in  their  articulative 
formation,  will  give  a  general  explanation  of  this, 
and  a  specific  realization  will  come  to  the  student, 
as  we  have  said,  after  he  has  mastered  the  varied 
forms  of  expression  in  stress,  pitch,  etc.,  and  is 
able  to  see  how  words  are  adapted  by  their  pecul- 
iar, articulative  form,  to  take  on  their  specifically 
appropriate  modes  of  expressive  vocality. 

He  will  find  that  the  forms  of  audible  language 
take  their  impressive  character  from  the  peculiar 
and  appropriate  actions  of  the  organs  by  which 
they  are  uttered,  as  well  as  from  the  state  of  mind 
or  of  feeling  which  they  are  intended  to  represent. 
The  English  language,  from  its  abundance  of  Saxon 
elements,  whose  origin  bespeaks  a  simple  and  child- 
like imitation  of  nature,  contains  many  evidences 
of  the  tendency  to  represent  our  ideas  by  their  re- 
semblance in  sound.  The  resemblances  in  the 
Latin  and  French  elements  of  our  language,  having 
been  more  subject  to  the  modifying  influences  of 
time,  are  less  obvious.      The  native  force  and  fresh- 


Sig7iifLcancc  of  Soimds.  i  7 1 

ness  of  the  Saxon  is  exemplified,  however,  by  a 
wide  range  of  words  whose  sounds  correspond  in 
vivid  analogy  to  the  ideas  and  feelings  they  repre- 
sent. 

All  emotions  which  are  recognized  as  calm,  quiet, 
gentle,  tender,  winning,  or  melting,  find  their  nat- 
ural expression  in  softened,  prolonged,  and  flowing 
sounds  devoid  of  all  semblance  of  force.  In  Dry- 
den's  Ode  we  have  an  illustration  of  this  in  the 
lines : 

"Softly  sweet  in  Lydian  measures 
Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures"; 

and  Milton's  well-known  and  beautiful  numbers: 
"With  many  a  bout  of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out." 

These  passages  tell  with  a  soothing  effect  upon 
the  ear  and  heart,  which  make  us  regard  the  charm 
of  vocal  sound  as  akin  to  magic  itself  The  tran- 
quil and  gentle  emotions  in  their  enunciation  glide 
softly  to  the  ear  upon  prolonged  vowel  quantities, 
and  liquid  consonants.  In  the  utterance  of  harsh 
and  abrupt  emotions  we  perceive,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  instinctive  tendency  of  speech  to  assume 
a  corresponding  harshness  and  abruptness  in  its  ex- 
pressive elements.  Thus,  when  the  poet  of  the 
Seasons  describes  the  downfall  of  the  oak,  the 
monarch  of  trees,    he  represents  it  as 

"Rustling,  crackling,  crashing,  thundering  down." 

Fierce,  angry  passion  seems  to  choose,  by  some 
subtle  law  of  instinct,  harshness  in  its  elements  to 
give  a  corresponding  fierce    effect  to    its  utterance. 


172  A   Plea  for  Spoken   Language. 

The  words  of   heroic  ardor  in  the  almost  fierce  in- 
tensity of  command  burst  forth  in  such  passages  as : 
"Down,  down!  your  lances  down! 
Bear  back  both  friend  and  foe!" 

The  character  of  action  is  suggested  in  such 
words  as  heaving,  swaying,  prancing,  darting,  lag- 
ging, twittering,  glancing,  glowing,  glittering,  frit- 
tering, quick,  cut,  crawl,  bawl,  plunging,  etc.; 
splashing,  stuttering,  spattering,  clatter,  etc.  Pas- 
sion or  emotion  is  expressed  in  words  like  brawl- 
ing, braggart,  hence,  avaunt,  dastard,  begone,  blast-' 
ing,  blighting,  blistering,  hateful,  spiteful,  wicked, 
go,  dare,  dart,  break,  etc.  A  gentle  expression 
seems  naturally  to  belong  to  such  words  as  softly, 
calmly,  slowly,  meekly,  sweetly,  mildly,  smoothly, 
gently,  lowly,  lovely,  lingering,  graceful,  love,  ten- 
derness, etc.  Calm  quietude  breathes  in  such  ut- 
terances as  balm,  peace,  dream,  stream,  hope, 
mercy,  murmur,  melancholy,  etc.  Grief  expresses 
itself  to  the  ear  as  readily  as  to  the  mind  through 
the  medium  of  such  words  as  alas !  oh !  ah !  woe, 
groan,  weeping,  wailing,  woeful,  sobbing,  warning, 
wasted,  etc.  Joy  and  triumph  cry  out  in  huzza ! 
ha,  ha !  hurrah !  It  also  makes  itself  felt  in  such 
words  as  gladly,  gaily,  gleeful,  brightly,  etc.  Then 
we  have  words  exemplifying  bold  and  forcible  ut- 
terance, as :  big,  brag,  .stab,  bad,  brave,  dread, 
dive,  thunder,  drive,  dare,  do.  Quickness  or  rapid- 
ity of  movements,  as :  bri.sk,  frisk,  quick,  bit,  wit, 
pat,  rash,  rapid,  vivid,  torrent,  etc.  Sublimity  of 
emotion,  as :  grand,  growl,  bald,  hurl,  hold,  bold, 
brand,    dive,   die,    dead,   dread,    dared,    etc. 


Significance  of  Sounds.  i  73 

The  effect  produced  upon  the  imagination  by 
language  is  largely  due  to  these  vocal  resemblances, 
and  the  most  skillful  of  our  poets  are  indebted  to 
them  for  their  most  celebrated  passages ;  the  lan- 
guage of  true  poetry  being  ever  the  language  of 
nature.  An  article  from  Johnson's  Rambler  on  the 
subject  of  "Sound  to  Sense,"  says,  with  regard  to 
this  felicitous  use  of  words  by  writers: 

"The  adumbration  of  particular  and  distinct  images,  by  an 
exact  and  perceptible  resemblance  of  sounds,  is  sometimes 
studied  and  sometimes  casual.  Every  language  has  many 
words  formed  in  imitation  of  the  noises  which  they  signify. 
Such  are  stridor,  valo,  and  bcatus,  in  Latin;  and  in  English, 
to  groiul,  to  buz2,  to  hiss,  and  to  jar.  Words  of  this  kind 
give  to  a  verse  the  proper  similitude  of  sound  without  much 
labor  of  the  writer,  and  such  happiness  is  therefore  to  be  at- 
tributed rather  to  fortune  than  to  skill." 

Should  it  not  be  attributed  to  the  poetic  gift 
which  instinctively  recognizes  and  seizes  upon  the 
sounds  most  appropriate  for  expressive  purposes  ?^'^ 
He  continues : 

"Yet  they  are  sometimes  combined,  with  great  propriety, 
and  undeniably  contribute  to  enforce  the  impression  of  the 
idea.     We  hear  the  passing  arrow  in  this  line  of  Virgil: 

"  '  Th'  impetuous  arrow  whizzes  on  the  wing,' — 

and  the  creaking  of  Hell-gates,  in  the  description  by  Milton; 

"'Open   fly,  with   impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound, 
The  infernal  gates,  and  on  tlieir  hinges  grate 
Harsh  thunder.'" 


"•■■  "Poetry  reproduces  the  original  process  of  the  mind  in  whicli 
language  originates.  The  coinage  of  words  is  the  primitive  |:iocm 
of  humanity,  and  the  imagery  of  ])<)etry  or  oratory  is  only  pos- 
sil)le  and  effective  because  it  is  a  continuation  of  tliat  primitive 
process  which   is  itself  a  reproduction  of  creation." — liioiscn. 


1 74         ^  ^^^^  y^^  Spoke7i  Language. 

The  following  is  a  familiar  example  from  the 
same  author: 

"Arms  on  armour  clashing  brayed 
Horrible  discord;   and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  brazen  fury  raged." 

We  have  also  an  equally  vivid  sound  picture  of 
another  kind  in  the  following  lines  of  the  same 
author : 

"And  heaven  opened  wide 
Her  ever-during  gates,  harmonious  sound, 
On  golden  hinges  turning." 

Again,  the  following  lines  from  the  "Voice  of 
Music "  (by  Mrs.  Hemans),  illustrate  the  wonder- 
ful adaptation  of  the  word  forms  to  express  a  pict- 
ure of  the  idea : 

"Thine  is  the  lay  that  lightly  floats. 
And  mine  are  the  murmuring,  dying  notes 
That  fall  as  soft  as  snow  on  the  lea. 
And  melt  in  the  heart  as  instantly."* 

In  the  following  impressive  description  by  Thom- 
son, we  readily  perceive  the  effort  made  by  the 
poet's  mind  to  reproduce,  in  vocal  sound  or  forms, 
the  ideas  of  force  and  sublimity  embodied  in  a  con- 
templation of  the  storm : 

"'Tis  listening  Fear,  and  dumb  amazement  all; 
When  to  the  startled  eye,  the  sudden  glance 
Appears  far  south,  eruptive  through  the  cloud ; 


■•■■  The  expressive  character  of  poetic  numbers,  as  will  be  seen 
later  in  Sheridan's  treatment  of  the  verse,  is  effected  by  the  pe- 
culiar succession  of  sound  in  the  metrical  arrangement,  as  much 
as  by  the  individual   character  of   the  words  themselves. 


Significance  of  Sounds.  175 

And,  following  slower,  in  explosion  fast 
The  thunder  raises  his  tremendous  voice. 
At  first,  heard  solemn,  o'er  the  verge  of  heaven 
The  tempest  growls;  but  as  it  nearer  comes, 
And  rolls  its  awful  burthen  on  the  wind, 
The  lightnings  flash  a  larger  curve,  and  more 
The  noise  astounds;  till  over  head  a  sheet 
Of  vivid  flame  discloses  wide,  then  shuts 
And  opens  wider ;  shuts  and  opens  still 
Expansive,  wrapping  ether  in  a  blaze, 
Follows  the  loosened  aggravated  roar, 
Enlarging,  deep'ning,  ming'ling  peal  on  peal. 
Crashed  horrible,  convulsing  heaven  and  earth." 

We  have  spoken  before  of  a  tendency  to  grow 
away  from  the  original  imaginative  and  expressive 
forms  of  utterance  in  our  ordinary  careless  language 
of  daily  intercourse.  The  changes  by  which  the 
significance  of  sound  in  words  has  been  so  greatly 
disguised  as  to  be  scarcely  distinguishable,  do  not 
consist  alone  in.  the  various  modifications  of  their 
original  forms  in  the  different  languages,  but  also 
in  the  quick  clipping  modes  of  their  utterance  in 
ordinary  speech,  by  which  the  value  of  the  vocal 
elements  that  compose  them  is  largely  ignored.  It 
is  only  by  a  return  to  the  emotional  language  of 
nature,  as  it  is  often  exemplified  in  the  speech  of 
children,  before  they  have  caught  the  artificialities 
of  those  surrounding  them,  that  we  are  able  to  dis- 
cover the  power  and  meaning  of  which  the  imita- 
tive sounds  of  words  are  capable.  These  imitations 
may  be  followed  through  all  the  various  forms  that 
words  have  assumed  in  different  languages,  and  when 
they  are  brought  out  and  made  prominent  by  means 
of  the  intonations  and  perfected  enunciations  of  ex- 


176         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

pressive  speech,  they  give  a  power  and  beauty  to 
words  which  are  entirely  lost  in  the  familiar,  and 
what  may  be  termed  pmched  up,  utterance  of  those 
who,  following  the  general  tendency  of  the  day, 
study  words  rather  as  printed  symbols  for  the  eye 
than  as  sound  pictures,  if  I  may  so  call  them,  for 
the  ear.  Let  us  take,  for  instance,  the  word  break, 
as  it  is  usually  pronounced.  The  imitative  sound 
which  gives  it  so  much  vigor  and  expression  is 
lost;  but  if  it  is  uttered  with  the  full  oral  effect  of 
which  it  is  capable,  the  imitative  character  becomes 
at  once  apparent.  Now  if  you  will  trace  this  word 
b7vak  through  the  many  different  forms  given  to  it 
by  the  spirit  of  different  languages  (and  this  can 
readily  be  done  by  simply  turning  to  it  in  Web- 
ster's quarto  dictionary),  you  will  find  the  same 
clearly  distinguishable  imitation  in  all  of  them, 
when  they  are  pronounced  in  a  full  and  impressive 
manner,  and  with  a  proper  observance  of  the  hold- 
ing power  of  their  articulative  construction.  In 
giving  attention  to  the  sound  power  of  words, 
however,  as  an  expression  or  suggestion  of  their 
sense,  one  thing  must  be  observed  in  this  regard 
and  strictly  complied  with  in  the  practice  of  the 
student  of  elocution,  and  that  is,  to  resist  the  ten- 
dency to  carry  such  imitations  to  extremes.  The  old 
axiom,  that  there  is  but  one  step  from  the  sublime 
to  the  ridiculous,  may  be  well  applied  in  this  con- 
nection. Thus,  on  the  stage,  the  low  comedian 
often  makes  use  of  this  exaggerated,  imitative  ex- 
pression to  heighten  his  comic  effects. 

The  idea,   then,   of  adapting   sound    to   sense   in 


Significa7ice  of  Sounds.  i  77 

the  utterance  of  imitative  words  (especially  fashion- 
able at  present),  must  by  all  means  receive  such  a 
modification  of  its  accepted  literal  significance  as 
that  embodied  in  the  remark  of  Sheridan  on  this 
point,  that  the  sound  used  in  the  utterance  of  such 
words  should  be  a  suggestive  comment  merely  on 
the  meaning,  rather  than  a  mechanical  imitation. 
For  example,  the  words  buzz,  hum,  rattle,  hiss, 
jar,  are  obviously  imitative  words,  but  their  sounds 
inappropriately  exaggerated,  would  only  occasion 
ludicrous  associations  of  the  idea.  Words,  as  we 
have  seen,  receive  their  expressive  sound-power, 
not  only  from  their  articulative  construction,  but 
from  the  vocal  form  and  character  accompanying 
this  articulated  utterance  in  the  intonation,  quality, 
and  other  vocal  attributes  of  all  syllabic  sounds ; 
but,  as  we  have  before  suggested,  these  two  elements 
of  expression  are  closely  dependent  upon  each  other, 
since  the  pecidiar  articidation  or  elemental  arrangement 
of  a  word  determines,  in  great  measure,  its  capabili- 
ties for  taking  on  the  various  appropriate,  expressive 
poivei'S  of  intonation  and  its  attendant  modifications.^ 
The  reader  or  orator,  then,  must  learn  to  com- 
bine the  different  appropriate  sounds  that  give  ex- 
pression to  the  emotions  with  the  verbal  forms  of 
his  language  in  such  a  manner  as  not  only  to  pre- 
sent a  full  and  clear  meaning  of  these  words  to 
the   minds   of  his    hearers,    but  also    to    awaken   a 


*  Sheridan,  in  speaking  of  the  capabilities  of  exprcsion  in  a 
large  number  of  words  in  our  language,  says:  "Whoever  will 
examine  such  words  closely  will  find  that  every  letter  in  them 
contributes  to  their  expressive  power." 


178  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

lively  and  active  sympathy  with  the  various  feelings 
or  passions  they  express.  The  demand  upon  the 
elocutionist  is  therefore  imperative  for  a  fitting  adap- 
tation- of  his  tones  to  the  spirit  of  the  language  of 
which  he  becomes  the  vocal  interpreter.  The  appli- 
cation of  art  in  giving  expressive  vocality  to  words 
is,  then,  so  to  speak,  to  clothe  them  in  their  most 
appropriate  and  descriptive  sound  colors ;  and  this 
tone-shading  in  speech  is  very  consistently  described 
by  the  phrase,  "word-painting."  Without  insist- 
ing, then,  upon  words  being  made  an  echo  to  the 
sense  in  every  case,  we  do  affirm  that  there  are 
circumstances  in  speech,  under  strong  emotion  or 
passion,  especially  where  the  subject  is  poetic,  when 
the  speaker  is  required  to  give  some  imitation  of 
the  characteristic  qualities,  in  action  or  condition, 
of  the  objects  or  ideas  his  words  are  intended  to 
represent.  In  such  cases,  the  taste  and  trained 
skill  of  the  artistic  reader  or  speaker  will  enable 
him  to  produce  an  echo  to  the  sense  without  mar- 
ring his  effects  by  an  excessive  material  effort  of 
imitation,  thus  lowering  the  matter  to  mere  mim- 
icry. 

We  have  simply  taken  the  preliminary  and  some- 
what cursory  view  of  this  subject,  for  the  purpose 
of  leading  the  mind  of  the  reader  to  reflect  upon 
the  full  value  of  sound  in  the  expression  of  lan- 
guage, and  of  its  intimate  connection  with  the  va- 
rious mental  and  emotional  conditions  of  mankind  ; 
and  also  to  impress  him  with  the  importance  of  a 
correct  and  appreciative  knowledge  of  those  ex- 
pressive movements  of  the  voice  by  which  nature, 


Significance  of  Sounds.  i  79 

with  such  graphic  power,  distinguishes  all  the  vari- 
ous feelings  and  emotions  that  accompany  our  men- 
tal operations.  To  dissect,  study,  and  recombine 
these  natural  vocal  movements,  are  the  means  by 
which  the  student  of  elocution  may  be  enabled  to 
avail  himself  of  all  the  impressive  effects  of  oral 
function  in  reproducing  his  own  thoughts,  or  read- 
ing those  of  others.  These  properties  of  the  voice 
may  not  be  caught  in  their  full  perfection  solely  by 
the  mere  inspiration  of  genius,  nor  by  the  imita- 
tion of  some  favorite  speaker.  It  is  only  by  taking 
nature  as  a  guide  and  studying  the  revelations  she 
has  made  that  we  may  follow,  through  art,  the  dif- 
ferent expressive  effects  she  has  supplied.  Although 
in  many  cases  it  has  been  denied  that  these  subtle 
vocal  agencies  can  be  measured  in  natural  speech, 
it  has  been  made  manifest  to  our  intelligence  that 
they  were  both  conceived  and  executed  by  man  in 
his  infancy,  and  made  the  basis  of  the  whole  art 
of  language.  We  certainly  ought,  then,  to  be  able 
to  so  far  perceive  and  study  such  sounds  as  to  re- 
produce them  in  the  utterance  of  the  words  to 
which  they  gave  birth  and  character.  Dr.  Rush's 
systematized  mode  of  elementary  and  syllabic  anal- 
ysis takes  us  back,  as  the  careful  student  will  learn, 
to  the  very  beginning  of  speech,  and  carries  us,  by 
progressive  study,  through  all  the  various  modes  of 
oral  expression,  until  we  finally  attain  a  full  knowl- 
edge and  command  of  the  various  shades  and  nice- 
ties of  tone  and  emphasis  that  give  power  and  ef- 
fect to  spoken  language,  thus  enabling  us  to  repro- 
duce,   by  means  of  art,   a    faithful  transcript  of   all 


1 8o         A  Plea  foj'  Spoken  Language. 

those  unmistakable  and  significant  modes  of  expres- 
sion by  which  nature  portrays  the  various  inner 
workings  of  the  soul. 

It  is  most  probable  that  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
were  acquainted  with  these  vocal  elements,  for  with- 
out their  study  they  could  never  have  attained  that 
wonderful  degree  of  excellence  in  oratory  for  which 
they  have  been  so  distinguished.  It  must  be  sup- 
posed that,  with  that  true  insight  into  nature  which 
characterized  them  in  their  studies  of  art,  they 
made  themselves  masters  of  expressive  speech  by 
an  analytic  measurement  of  all  its  varied  forms  of 
sound. 

But  sound,  unlike  the  productions  of  sculpture 
and  painting,  is  evanescent  as  the  dew.  The  classic 
languages  are  dead  because  their  tones,  that  which 
constituted  their  soul,  are  lost  forever.  Let  us, 
then,  set  to  work  in  earnest  to  supply  the  defi- 
ciency. The  materials  are  around  us.  "  Our  per- 
ceptive faculties  are  as  quick  and  penetrating  as 
those  which  existed  before  us ;  our  industry,  pro- 
verbial ;  and  our  enterprise,  surely  as  great.  Then 
let  us  be  willing  to  learn  those  good  things  which 
others  found  it  possible  to  acquire  in  the  school  of 
nature,  and  by  which  they  made  their  own  schools 
produce  such  results  as  helped  to  create  the  Greek 
and  Roman  glory.  Let  the  student  of  elocution 
be,  above  all,  the  student  of  nature.  Let  him  listen 
to  her  voice  as  expressed  in  his  own  untrammeled 
utterance  of  emotion  and  passion  ;  study  the  notes 
of  the  birds  and  the  tones  of  the  animals  around 
him,    listen  to    the   many    voices  of  the    winds  and 


Sig7iificance  of  Sounds.  i8i 

Welters,  until  his  ear  becomes  familiar  with  all  known 
sounds,  and  his  heart  attuned  to  the  vocal  beauties 
of  nature,  and  thus  learn  how  they  all  conform  to 
the  laws  of  natural  expression.  He  will  find  many 
of  these  sounds  in  nature  are  tunable,  —  that  is, 
musical,  —  while  others  are  untunable,  or  merely 
noisy.  An  opportunity  for  the  observation  of  such 
sounds  may  be  had,  for  example,  at  a  wharf  where 
ships  are  moored  during  a  storm.  There  let  any 
one  stand  and  listen  as  the  wind  whistles  through 
the  rigging  and  shrouds,  then  contrast  the  shrieking 
pitch  of  such  sounds  with  the  loud  blow  of  the 
steam  pipe  ;  the  groaning  of  the  ponderous  timbers 
of  the  wharf  chafed  by  the  weighty  vessels ;  the 
angry  splashing  of  the  waves  breaking  against  the 
many  obstructions ;  the  clatter  and  clanking  of 
chains ;  the  complaining  of  cables  strained  to  their 
utmost  tension.  Again,  let  him  stand  on  the  sea- 
beach  near  to  some  bold  promontory,  and  his  ear 
will  be  filled  with  sounds  of  another  kind,  —  the 
heavy  boom  of  the  tempestuous  sea ;  the  swollen 
tide  as  it  falls  crashing  on  the  beach  ;  the  thunder 
and  roar  of  waves  as  they  hurl  themselves  against 
or  sweep  over  opposing  rocks.  In  such  concerts 
as  these,  which  nature  invites  us  to  hear  and  ad- 
mire, we  may  recognize  the  voices  of  grief  and  pain  ; 
the  vocal  signs  of  petulance — fretting  and  moaning; 
the  hurtling  sounds  of  anger,  rage,  and  ferocity ; 
and  the  deep,  loud  vocality  of  awe,  sublimity,  and 
grandeur. 

In  reading,   it  requires  the  skill  of  an  artist  who 
has  studied  his  subject  in  detail   to  be  able  to  em- 


1 82         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

ploy  the  vocal  signs  corresponding  to  the  verbal 
forms  which  express  the  ever-changing  states  of 
mind  represented  in  the  language  he  assumes.  Yet, 
how  often  do  we  observe  in  the  tones  of  an  un- 
trained speaker's  voice  an  indiscriminate  employ- 
ment of  certain  vocal  signs  where  there  is  no  war- 
rant for  their  especial  use  in  the  matter  he  is 
enunciating,  with  no  other  definite  or  intelligent 
purpose  than  what  arises  from  a  vague  notion  of 
the  necessity  for  a  variety  of  vocal  effects.  In  our 
unpremeditated  or  spontaneous  utterance,  the  vocal 
signs  expressive  of  the  changes  from  one  state  of 
mind  to  the  other  are  born,  so  to  speak,  simul- 
taneously with  the  verbal  form ;  but,  in  reproduc- 
ing the  language  of  another,  the  most  consummate 
skill  is  necessary  to  reproduce  the  ever-changing 
variety  of  tone,  or,  in  other  words,  to  employ, 
with  perfect  naturalness  of  effect,  vocal  signs  ap- 
propriate to  the  natural  expression  of  such  language. 
By  introducing  a  mere  unmeaning  variety — that  is, 
by  employing  vocal  signs  for  verbal  signs  of  an 
entirely  opposite  character  —  do  many  speakers  and 
readers  confound  all  the  real  vocal  distinctions  of 
language  and  the  varied  shades  of  thought  and 
feeling.  It  must  be  apparent,  then,  that  a  study 
of  such  expressive  agencies  in  their  individual  char- 
acter is  absolutely  necessary  in  order  to  apply  them 
in  their  true  significance  in  the  combined  effects 
of  artistic  speech,  just  as  the  painter  must  become 
familiar  with  the  primary  colors,  and  then  with  their 
combined  effects  in  light  and  shade,  before  he  can 
portray  in  their  combinations  a  true  counterfeit  of 


Sig7iijicance  of  Sounds.  183 

nature.  Such  a  knowledge  of  the  vocal  signs  as 
discipline  and  industry,  close  observation  and  faith- 
ful practice  will  give  can  not  be  overestimated,  since, 
as  the  reader  will  not  fail  to  see,  from  the  view 
we  have  had  of  the  close  connection  between  the 
varying  states  of  the  human  mind  and  their  ex- 
pression in  vocal  sound  and  verbal  forms,  it  must 
constitute  the  master  key  to  the  true  art  of  elocu- 
tion. 

Before  passing  on  to  a  specific  view  of  the  sub- 
ject as  treated  by  the  author  who  has  made  a  de- 
tailed study  of  these  vocal  signs  of  thought  and 
passion  a  possible  matter,  it  would  be  as  well  to 
have  his  position  with  regard  to  the  subject  clearly 
defined  in  his  own  words,  and  thus,  perhaps,  to 
remove  a  misconception  which  is  apt  to  be  enter- 
tained concerning  the  apparently  unlimited  extent 
of  such  a  study.  He  tells  us,  and  demonstrates 
the  fact,  also,  that  each  natural  or  instinctive  vocal 
sign,  represented  by  certain  forms  of  stress,  time, 
quality,  pitch,  etc.,  is  used  in  its  various  degrees 
to  indicate  more  than  one  state  of  mind,  since 
words  or  verbal  signs,  as  descriptive  agents,  are 
more  numerous  —  being  the  result  of  the  growth 
of  intelligence  —  and  thus  that  many  of  these  states 
generically  represented  by  the  same  natural  sign, 
have  their  specific  difference  marked  by  the  artifi- 
cial sign  or  conventional  language  that  describes 
them.      He  says: 

"By  the  use,  then,  of  a  coviparaihwly  limited  manber  of 
I'ocal  si'^ns,  together  with  the  assistant  means  of  conventional 
hmguage,  the  apparently  infinite  forms  of  expression  in  speech 


1 84         A  Plea  fo7'-  Spokeii  Language. 

arc  produced.  A  specification  of  these  signs  and  numerical 
limitations  of  the  terms  of  their  nomenclature,  at  once  afford 
an  observer  the  means  to  survey,  through  the  composure  of 
a  classifying  reflection,  the  whole  extent  of  this  supposed  in- 
finity, and  thereby  to  change  a  vulgar  and  distracting  won- 
der at  immensity  into  an  inteUigent  admiration  of  the  obvi- 
ous combinations  and  endless  intermutable  variety  of  a  few 
distinguishable  constituents." 

He  then  adds,  and  we  can  not  better  close  this 
general  review  of  this  phase  of  the  subject  than  by 
these  words : 

"He  who  has  a  knowledge  of  the  constituents  of  speech, 
and  of  their  powers  and  uses,  is  the  potential  master  of  the 
science  of  elocution,  and  he  must  then  derive  from  his  ear, 
his  sense  of  propriety,  and  his  taste  the  means  of  actually 
applying  it  with  success." 


Elocution  as  a  Fine  Art. 


p.  S    T..-T6.  (185) 


Chapter  I. 

Popular  Errors  Regarding  E/ociiiion. 

Before  entering  upon  a  detailed  consideration  of 
the  vocal  signs  of  thought  and  passion,  and  their 
varieties  of  expression  in  the  utterances  of  speech, 
which  constitute  a  large  part  of  the  working  ma- 
terial for  the  study  of  the  true  art  of  spoken  lan- 
guage, it  has  seemed  to  me  expedient  to  meet 
some  erroneous  ideas  and  objections  which  have 
long  been,  and  still  are,  advanced  by  many  concern- 
ing the  matter  of  a  disciplined  and  artistic  study 
of  elocution,  —  ideas  and  objections  which,  judging 
from  the  similar  attitude  of  the  public  mind  toward 
all  subjects  that  have  not  been  thoroughly  investi- 
gated, and  hence,  in  many  cases,  unfairly  repre- 
sented, are  founded  more  upon  a  certain  popular 
prejudice  than  upon  a  plain,  rational,  and  unbiased 
view  of  existing  facts. 

I  think  I  am  perfectly  safe  in  stating  that  it  is 
affirmed  by  a  large  class  of  thinking  people,  and 
even  by  persons  of  influence  in  educational  matters, 
that  the  ability  to  read  and  speak  well  is  a  special, 
natural  gift,  bestowed  only  upon  certain  favored 
individuals.  The  "natural  reader"  is,  therefore, 
supposed  to  be   endowed    with  the   capacity  to  cx- 

('«7) 


1 88         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Lmiguage. 

ercise  the  functions  of  expressive,  premeditated 
speech,  without  especial  study  or  preparation ;  to 
deal  spontaneously,  as  it  were,  with  his  subject- 
matter,  the  intellectual  and  emotional  attributes  of 
which  often  require  it  to  be  lifted  to  the  highest 
plane  of  dramatic  delineation  or  oratorical  eloquence. 
There  needs  no  stronger  corroboration  of  this  state- 
ment than  the  fact  before  spoken  of;  namely,  the 
modern  tendency  toward  a  contraction  in  didactic 
matter  in  our  books  of  reading,  which  stands  but 
as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  belief  that  detailed 
and  practical  principles  and  rules  of  instruction  in 
this  branch  of  education  are  of  but  little  avail. 

I  have  in  my  mind  in  this  connection  a  charac- 
teristic example  of  this  "natural  reader"  idea,  con- 
tained in  a  reading  book  published  by  a  popular 
reciter  in  Philadelphia  a  few  years  ago,  boldly 
enunciating  the  theory  that  rules  and  principles 
were  not  only  not  necessary  to  make  a  reader,  but 
rather  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of  the  learner, 
and  summing  up  the  requirements  of  the  latter  in 
substance,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  as  follows : 

"The  selections  contained  in  this  book  abound  in  fitting 
expressions  of  thought,  emotion,  and  passion,  and,  as  such, 
are  calculated  to  excite  in  the  reader  corresponding  feelings; 
all,  then,  that  remains  for  him  is  to  enter  fully  and  strongly 
into  the  spirit  of  the  language,  and  deliver  the  words  as  if 
they  were  his  own,  expressing  them  in  such  tones  as  he 
would  use  himself  were  he  in  the  same  position  as  the  per- 
sonage represented  by  the  author." 

The  extreme  simplicity  and  "naturalness"  of  such 
instructions  may  be  well  placed  with  the   profound 


Popular  Ei'vors.  189 

assertion  of  Dogberry  that,  "to  be  a  well-favored 
man  is  the  gift  of  fortune,  but  to  read  and  write 
comes  by  nature."  And  yet  we  have  grave  au- 
thorities for  this  same  theory. 

This  oft-repeated  injunction  to  make  the  language 
your  own  and  then  utter  it  naturally,  is,  however, 
by  no  means  wrong  in  itself,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
is,  in  its  full  significance,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter, 
an  epitome  of  all  the  requirements  of  the  most 
studious  and  artistic  reader.  But,  taken  as  consti- 
tuting the  Slim  of  instniction,  it  is  no  more  a  key 
to  the  end  desired  than  the  title  page  of  a  book 
to  the  detail  of  its  contents.  It  contains  simply  a 
statement  of  something  to  be  accomplished  which 
involves  all  that  is  to  be  effected  in  reading,  and, 
moreover,  the  necessity  of  a  knowledge  how  to  do 
it.  To  expect  a  person  to  be  guided  by  such  a 
direction  alone  toward  excellence  in  reading  would 
be  as  logical  as  to  state  a  difficult  proposition  in 
arithmetic  or  geometry,  involving  all  the  principles 
of  mathematics,  and  then  require  the  student  to 
solve  it  without  any  previous  instruction  in  those 
principles.  In  other  words,  it  is  simply  offering 
as  a  rule  to  guide  one  to  a  desired  end  that  which 
is  only  the  result  arising  from  principles  properly 
applied. 

In  the  first  place,  to  enter  into  the  author's 
thoughts  and  make  them  one's  own,  means  not 
only  an  apprehension  through  the  intelligence  of 
the  sense  conveyed  by  the  grammatical  structure 
of  the  language,  but  a  further  apprehension  of 
the    feeling,    passion,    and    imagination    which    led 


190        A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

to  its  creation,  and  of  which  it  is  the  tangible  ex- 
pression. This  must  necessarily  imply  a  close  and 
analytic  study  of  the  written  forms,  not  only  with 
the  searching  power  of  the  intellect,  but  with  that 
of  the  heart  and  imagination.  This  accomplished, 
what  remains?  By  far  the  most  difficult  part  —  "to 
express  it,"  we  are  told,  "as  if  it  were  our  own, 
naturally." 

"To  be  natural"  means,  of  course,  to  employ 
such  vocal  signs  or  modes  of  expression  as  nature 
has  invariably  assigned  to  certain  states  of  the 
mind  for  the  expression  of  the  language  which  is 
the  exponent  of  such  mental  conditions,  —  since  it 
has  been  established  that  the  ordinary  tones  and 
movements  of  the  voice  which  we  employ  in  our 
intercourse,  either  in  simple,  unimpassioned  com- 
munication, or  the  more  earnest  vocal  forms  pecul- 
iar to  argument,  narrative,  vivid  description,  or 
passion,  are  the  gifts  of  nature,  formed  originally, 
as  we  have  seen,  upon  the  inarticulate  voices  of 
primitive  man. 

But  can  being  natural,  in  the  absence  of  the  im- 
mediate impulse  of  instinct,  be  other  than  being 
able  to  imitate  successfully  the  same  vocal  means 
we  would  employ  to  produce  a  corresponding  un- 
premeditated utterance?  And  can  such  means  be 
successfully  imitated,  in  all  their  manifold  variety, 
unless  the  reader  be  consciously  aware  of  them, 
and  possess  a  control  of  them  at  will  ?     Rush  .says : 

"In  looking  for  a  rule  of  excellence  in  the  art  of  elocution, 
we  are  always  referred,  as  in  the  other  fine  arts,  to  nature. 
But  nature  is,  when   shut  out  from  the  light  of  analysis,  an 


Popular  Errors.  191 

U7tassignablc  pattern But  it  is  the  belief  of  those  who 

can  not  perceive  the  apphcation  of  analysis  and  precept  to 
elocution  that  the  power  consists  in  the  wonder-working  of 
'genius,'  and  in  proprieties  and  graces  beyond  the  reach  of 
art.  So  seem  the  plainest  services  of  arithmetic  to  a  savage, 
and  so  to  the  slave  seem  all  the  ways  of  music,  which  mod- 
ern art  has  so  accurately  penned  as  to  time  and  tune  and 

momentary  grace 

"Now  genius,  as  it  appears  from  its  productions,  is  only  an 
unusual  aptitude  for  that  broad,  reflective,  combining,  and 
persevering  observation  which  perceives  and  readily  accom- 
plishes more  than  is  done  without  it,  and  is,  therefore,  in  its 
purposes  and  uses,  not  altogether  removed  beyond  a  submis- 
sion to  knowledge  and  rule." 


Thus  admitting  that  even  genius  needs  the  aid 
of  art  toward  the  full  development  of  its  powers, 
how  much  more  are  those  dependent  upon  art's 
enlightening  assistance  who  are  not  possessed  of 
transcendent  gifts ! 

As  before  suggested,  every  thing  in  reading  will 
depend  primarily  upon  the  ability  of  the  mind  to 
perceive  and  realize  the  author's  meaning,  not  only 
in  the  root,  as  it  were,  of  the  ideas  and  sentiments, 
but  also  in  the  various  modifications  and  qualifica- 
tions which  spring  from  and  cluster  round  the 
main  current  of  thought  and  feeling.  When  the 
reader  has  fully  conceived  and  mastered  the  text 
mentally,  then,  how  much  depends  upon  what  may 
be  called  the  simply  physical  ability  to  deal  with 
it  in  natural  utterance.  Just  in  proportion  to  the 
reader's  ability  to  vary  and  intensify  his  modes  of 
expressive  utterance  in  consonance  with  nature's 
own  varied  methods  of  appropriate    expression  for 


192         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

her  thoughts  and  feehngs,  will  his  effects  be  com- 
mensurate with  the  demands  of  an  intelligent  and 
demonstrative  interpretation  of  the  author's  lan- 
guage. For  it  must  be  plain  that,  if  the  exact  and  ap- 
propriate expressive  vocal  character  of  the  thoughts, 
emotions,  and  passions  be  not  given  to  the  words 
by  which  they  are  represented,  the  reader  must 
fail  in  transferring  the  workings  of  the  mind  and 
soul  of  one  intelligence  to  another.  The  sounds  of 
the  spoken  language  can  in  such  case  only  serve 
to  obscure  the  thought  and  to  deaden  the  spirit  of 
the  written  language,  which  it  is  their  real  province 
to  illuminate  and  vivify.  The  undisciplined  effort 
to  be  natural  in  reading,  without  knowing  just  how 
to  go  about  it,  further  than  to  enter  into  a  sort 
of  general  understanding  of  the  feeling  to  be  ex- 
pressed, results,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  in  the 
formality  of  a  certain  "reading  tone,"  unlike  any 
expression  of  nature  or  of  art,  —  a  tone  which  be- 
comes, through  custom,  confirmed  by  the  unreflect- 
ing habit  of  treating  expression,  as  one  may  say, 
"in  the  lump." 

Who  has  not  frequently  been  struck  with  the 
pretentious,  not  to  say  pompous,  display  made  by 
some  uncultured  aspirant  for  elocutionary  honors, 
in  reading  "naturally"  from  a  newspaper,  the 
mixed  material  of  a  narrative,  dramatic,  and  descrip- 
tive character,  contained  in  the  report  of  some  ex- 
citing article  of  the  day?  And  can  we  not  all  call 
to  mind  the  chanting  or  droning  sentimentalism  of 
the  "natural"  reading  of  some  favorite  poem,  or, 
as  a  more  familiar  matter,  the  reading-tone  by  which 


Popular  Errors.  193 

the  language  of  some  inspired  hymn  has  fallen 
upon  the  ear  in  sounds  calculated  to  banish  all 
sentiment  or  feeling  suggested  by  the  words? 

"There  is  nothing  could  put  the  difficulty  of  reading  prop- 
erly in  a  stronger  light  to  any  man  than  his  attempting  to 
read  aloud  a  scene  of  a  comedy;  in  which,  though  there  are 
no  tones  to  be  used  but  what  are  known  to  him,  and  which 
he  acknowledges  as  such  when  used  by  others,  yet  can  he 
by  no  means  command  them  at  his  pleasure;  and  he  must 
be  obliged  to  own  that  to  conceive  and  to  execute  are  two 
different  things." — Sheridan. 

In  allusion  to  the  precept  before  stated,  and  so 
often  proposed  as  the  key  to  natural  expression  in 
reading,    Rush  justly  observes: 

"  Teachers  have  sometimes  varied  their  old  and  imperfect 
rule  of  teaching  by  imitation,  to  something  like  the  system 
of  nature,  as  they  think,  by  requiring  their  pupil  not  to  imi- 
tate another,  but  figuratively,  as  it  were,  to  imitate  himself. 
Such  a  direction,  in  assuming  to  be  the  rule  for  a  just  and 
effective  elocution,  only  requires  a  pupil  to  speak  as  he 
pleases; — that  is,  as  his  own  particular  ideas  prompt  him, — 
for,  by  the  direction,  he  is  to  make  the  ideas  of  the  author 
his  own;  but  having,  as  implied  by  the  necessity  of  the  di- 
rection, no  previous  rule,  he  is  left  to  utter  them  only  as  he 
pleases,  by  an  assumed  rule  of  his  own.  I  have  more  than 
once  seen  among  aspirants  of  the  stage  the  pitiable  results 
of  what  was  supposed  to  be  a  representation  of  the  truth  of 
nature  by  thus  affecting  to  become  identical." 

How  often,  indeed,  when  the  student  undertakes 
to  feel  what  he  reads  and  read  naturally,  as  the 
sole  guide  towards  achieving  the  end  of  proper  ex- 
pression, does  the  following  occur:  He  at  once 
finds  himself  manufacturing  such  tones  of  utterance 

p.  S.  L.— 17. 


194         ^  Plea  for  Spokeii  Language. 

(in  remembrance,  perhaps,  of  what  he  may  have 
heard  from  the  pulpit,  stage,  bar,  or  platform)  as 
his  imagination,  entirely  independent  of  judgment 
or  previous  training  in  the  distinctive  value  of  vo- 
cal sounds,  leads  him  to  suppose  are  suited  to  the 
subject.  The  excitement  attendant  upon  the  situa- 
tion carries  him  away,  and  his  feelings,  rushing  on 
from  point  to  point,  compel  him  to  an  utterance 
in  which  all  the  various  shades  and  outlines  of 
emotion  are  blended  into  a  confused  mass,  —  or, 
more  plainly,  into  one  continuous  tone, — and  finally, 
after  fatiguing  his  hearers,  he  concludes  his  discourse 
or  composition  with  exhausted  lungs  and  irritated 
throat,  entirely  unconscious  of  the  process  employed, 
save  that  he  has  felt  his  subject  and  tired  himself. 
And  indeed,  if  such  an  unregulated  and  perverted 
use  of  the  voice  is  persisted  in  for  any  length  of 
time,  the  vocal  organs  become  diseased,  the  lungs 
and  bronchial  tubes  perhaps  affected  from  their  re- 
lationship to  such  disorganized  members,  and  the 
citadel  of  life  itself  slowly  but  surely  yields  to  such 
fatal  encroachments.  This  is  no  exaggeration,  as 
the  many  cases  of  broken  health  amongst  men  who 
are  called  upon  to  use  their  voices  professionally, 
without  previous  training,  will  testify. 
Dr.  Rush,    speaking  on  this  point,    says : 

"Let  us,  however,  suppose  this  rule  of  self-imitation  might 
serve  for  commonplace  ideas  on  every-day  occasions.  On 
the  other  hand,  suppose  the  art  of  reading  to  be  exerted  in 
representing  the  utmost  force  and  dehcacy  in  dramatic  char- 
acter and  of  imaginative  creation  by  the  poet.  How,  with 
the  great  crowd  of  mankind,  will  this  rule  of  substitution  meet 


Popular  Errors.  195 

the  case?  ....  It  is  a  prevailing  opinion  that  persons  who 
speak  their  own  states  of  mind  in  social  intercourse  always 
speak  properly,  and  that  transferring  this  'natural  manner,' 
as  it  is  called,  to  formal  reading,  must  insure  this  required 
natural  propriety.  This  idea  has  arisen  from  ignorance  of 
the  functions  which  constitute  the  beauties  and  deformities 
of  speech.  Without  a  knowledge  of  causes  and  effects  on 
these  points,  teachers  have  been  obliged  to  refer  to  the 
spontaneous  efforts  of  the  voice  as  the  only  assistant  means 
of  instruction.  Setting  aside  here  what  we  might  insist  on, 
that  no  one  should  pretend  to  say  what  the  right  or  natural 
manner  is  before  he  knows  the  principles  that  make  it  so, 
we  will  admit  that  the  'natural  manner,' — or  any  body's  man- 
ner, or,  rather,  no  manner  at  all,  from  our  being  accustomed 
to  it,  and  having,  it  may  be,  a  fellow  feeling  with  the  faults, — 
is  less  exceptionable  than  the  first  attempts  of  the  pKpil  in 
reading.  Still,  the  faults  of  ordinary  conversation  are  similar 
to  those  of  reading,  though  they  are  less  apparent.  Perhaps 
the  common  opinion  is  grounded  on  the  belief  that  a  just 
execution  must  necessarily  follow  a  full  perception  of  the 
thought  and  passion  of  discourse,  for  these  are  supposed  to 
accompany  colloquial  speech.  No  one  indeed  can  read  cor- 
rectly or  with  elegance  if  he  does  not  both  understand  and 
feel,  as  it  is  called,  what  he  utters;  but  these  are  not  exclu- 
sively the  means  of  success.  There  must  be  knowledge  de- 
rived from  peepi7ig  behind  the  curtain  of  actual  vocal  deform- 
ity still  hanging  before  the  just  and  beautiful  laws  of  speech, 
and  there  must  be  an  organic  faculty  well  prepared  in  the 
school  of'  those  laws  for  the  representation  of  thought  and 
passion.  Were  it  certain  that  this  pretended  'natural  man- 
ner' truly  represents  the  proper  system  of  vocal  expression, 
we  would  no  more  require  an  art  of  elocution  than  an  art  of 
breathing;  and  the  whole  world,  in  reading  and  speaking,  as 
in  the  act  of  respiration,  would  always  accomplish  its  purposes 
with  a  like  instinctive  perfection.  Yet,  far  from  uniformity, 
there  are  wide  and  innumerable  differences  in  what  now, 
with  individuals  and  schools,  pass  for  the  proprieties,  as  well 
as  in  what  are  the  acknowledged  faults,  of  speech." 


196         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Lmiguage. 

There  is  one  point,  therefore,  with  regard  to  this 
theory  of  a  "natural  manner"  which  we  should 
carefully  consider;  namely,  that  what  we  call  nat- 
ural in  the  matter  of  unpremeditated  speech  is,  after 
all,  an  acquirement  with  each  individual,  the  result 
of  life-long  exercise  of  the  organs  of  speech,  where 
the  intelligence,  working  with  nature  or  under  her 
promptings,  produces  habits  which  become  appar- 
ently purely  instinctive.  Indeed,  it  is  this  power 
of  progression  beyond  the  merely  animal  cries  that 
marks  the  intelligence  of  man  as  distinguishing  him 
from  the  brutes,  whose  utterances,  being  the  result 
of  instinct  alone,  can  not  advance  to  those  varied 
vocal  acquisitions  which  accompany  intelligent  ar- 
ticulate communication.  All  the  natural  and  seem- 
ingly purely  instinctive  functions  of  the  body  that 
are  subject  to  the  will,  though  fashioned  to  certain 
uses,  still  await  the  training  of  education  to  adapt 
them  to  the  purposes  for  which  they  are  by  nat- 
ure unquestionably  fitted.  The  hands,  feet,  and 
limbs  of  the  child  are  adapted  to  their  several  pur- 
poses by  a  slow  process  of  education,  and  the  anal- 
ogy holds  throughout  all  the  operations  of  the 
body,  subject  to  the  will,  the  organs  of  speech 
amongst  the  number.     To  quote  Rush  again : 

"Man's  whole  executive  purposes  are  directed  by  his 
thoughts  and  passions,  the  same  agents  that  direct  his  speech, 
and  as  far  as  history  and  well  grounded  conclusions  inform 
us,  the  just  designs  of  nature,  in  his  moral,  his  political,  and 
his  vocal  condition,  were  found  to  be  already  crossed  or 
perverted  when  he  first  began  to  look  into  her  laws  and  to 
turn  an  eye  of  philosophic  inquiry  and  comparison  on  him- 
self." 


Popular  Errors.  197 

The  whole  possibility  of  perfection  or  corruption 
of  the  art  of  elocution  lies  in  this  capability  of 
education  in  the  vocal  organs,  and  the  capacity 
for  acquiring  habits,  good  or  bad,  as  they  may 
be  directed,  either  by  earnest  intelligence  or  self- 
satisfied  and  indifferent  ignorance.  Thus,  many 
habits  of  utterance,  though  seemingly  "natural," 
are  in  reality  not  natural,  because  they  are  the 
result  of  a  violation  of  nature's  laws  of  proper 
and  complete  utterance,  for  this  latter  is  always 
and  only  that  which  accords  with  the  most  perfect 
functions  of  that  vocal  mechanism  which  nature 
has  provided.  This  is  plain  from  the  fact  that 
the  voice  is  always  strengthened  and  beautified  by 
exercising  it  in  the  evident  line  of  nature's  intent. 
Sheridan  says,  in  speaking  of  pronunciation,  —  and 
the  remark  applies  with  double  force  to  intona- 
tion,—  that  it  is  an  indisputable  truth  that  the 
sounds  tvhich  are  most  easily  uttered  by  the  organs 
of  speech  are  most  pleasing  to  the  organs  of  hearing, 
and  that  this  is  the  very  best  rule  by  which  the 
pronunciation  of  any  language  could  be  formed. 

"In  speaking,  as  in  other  arts,  the  useful  and  agreeable 
are  almost  always  found  to  coincide,  and  every  real  embel- 
lishment promotes  and  perfects  the  principal  design." — 
Walker. 

"Thus  instinct,  even  when  dignified  into  genius,  seems  to 
be  nothing  more  than  an  organization  prepared  by  nature  to 
receive  the  impression  of  directive  causes,  which,  therefore, 
act  necessarily  to  excite  the  organic  power,  limited  as  it  may 
be,  and  to  exercise  it  to  its  end." — Rush. 

In  coming  to  study  the  details  of  nature's  laws, 
we  are  compelled  to  acknowledge  the  fact  that: 


198         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

"There  are  individual  instances  of  vocal  deformity  pre- 
sented by  'nature' — with  sacrilege,  so  called, — and  daily  suf- 
fered to  pass  without  remark  because  we  are  engaged  at  the 
moment  with  other  thoughts  and  designs,  which  we  perceive 
only  when  the  voice  itself,  as  a  subject  of  taste,  is  the  exclu- 
sive object  of  reflective  and  discriminating  attention." — Rush. 

Many  persons  also  acquire,  by  different  and  va- 
rious means,  certain  habits  of  speech  by  no  means 
natural  in  sound  to  the  ear  of  persons  unaccustomed 
to  them,  and  which  are  but  a  misuse  of  vocal 
movements  and  forms  of  expression  correct  and 
agreeable  in  their  own  place  or  province,  but  mis- 
applied through  the  accidents  of  ignorance  or  care- 
lessness,   or  it  may  be  caprice.* 

Another  point  to  be  considered  in  the  matter  of 
naturalness  is  that  temperamental  peculiarities  beget, 
in  the  natural  utterance,  certain  vocal  peculiarities, 
and  though  these  need  not  be  faults  of  utterance, 
still  they  represent  but  one  phase  of  a  varied  nat- 
ure, in  addition  to  which  is  a  large  unconquered 
territory  in  the  field  of  natural  utterance,  every 
inch  of  which  the  reader  must  be  familiar  with  in 
order  to  be  able  to  traverse  it  at  his  will  in  the 
representation  of  the  varied  expression  common  to 
all.  To  illustrate,  —  a  dramatic  reader  must  be  able, 
in  "making  the  language  his  own,"  and  speaking 
it  "naturally,"  to  utter  it  in  the  manner  natural, 
not  to  himself,  but  to  the  person  of  whose  tem- 
perament and  personal   characteristics    it  is   the  ex- 


■•■-' To  illustrate, —  the  circumflex  movement  of  New  England  is 
certainly  not  a  natural  one,  although  custom  has  caused  it  to 
seem  natural   to  those  persons  by  whom   it  is  heard  daily. 


Pop2ilar  Errors.  199 

pression,  and  this  he  will  not  be  able  to  do  with 
any  degree  of  perfection  until  he  learns  Jioio  tlirough 
an  analysis  and  practical  mastery  of  the  true  causes 
of  varied  natural  effect. 

The  evil  of  much  that  is  false  or  imperfect  in 
utterance,  lies  in  the  earliest  education  of  children, 
where  the  visible  sign,  or  skeleton  of  speech,  is 
taught  in  the  faith  that  the  flesh  and  blood,  or  the 
vitality  of  sound  in  proper  intonation,  etc.,  will 
follow  naturally  ;  and  how  does  it  follow  ?  Certainly 
not  in  accordance  with  the  proprieties,  melodies,  and 
harmonies  existing  in  the  vocal  attributes  of  nature, 
but  too  often  through  the  example  of  those  crude, 
slovenly  modes  of  speech,  those  sharp,  discordant 
qualities  of  voice,  which  jabber,  scream,  mumble, 
or  mutter  in  the  streets,  the  play-ground,  and  often 
in  the  home  life,  —  those  places  where  our  children's 
voices  are  molded  after  the  fashion  of  the  vocal 
impressions  which  become  familiar  to  their  ears, 
and  which,  in  so  many  cases,  override  or  obscure 
the  more  delicate,  tender,  and  agreeable  forms  of 
vocal  expression. 

"Amongst  those  bred  at  the  university,  or  at  court,  as  well 
as  amongst  mechanics,  or  rustics ;  amongst  those  who  speak 
in  the  senate  house,  pulpit,  or  at  the  bar,  as  well  as  amongst 
men  in  private  life,  we  find  stammerers,  lispers,  a  mumbling, 
indistinct  utterance;  ill  management  of  the  voice,  by  pitching 
it  in  too  high  or  too  low  a  key;  speaking  too  loud,  or  too 
softly  as  not  to  be  heard;  and  using  discordant  tones,  and 
false  cadences.  These  being,  I  say,  common  to  all  ranks 
and  classes  of  men,  have  not  any  marks  of  disgrace  put 
upon  them,  but,  on  the  contrary,  meet  with  general  indul- 
gence from  a  general  corruption." — Sheridan. 


200         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

Our  feelings  are  no  longer  sufficiently  simple  and 
natural  to  distinguish  the  real  without  the  help  of 
a  knowledge  of  these  universal  and  unchangeable 
principles  which,  though  they  can  neither  create 
talent  nor  supply  the  place  of  it,  can  yet  furnish 
it  with  aids,  and  with  such  aids  we  may  avoid  much 
that  is  false,  though  sometimes  accepted  as  nature, 
and  much  that  is  injurious. 

"The  practical  ends  of  elocution,  as  an  elegant  art,  are  to 
convey  our  thoughts  and  passions,  with  truth,  propriety,  and 
taste,  and  consequently  without  the  error  and  deformity  of 
awkwardness  or  affectation.  When,  therefore,  by  analytic 
knowledge  of  the  constituents  of  an  art,  principles  or  classi- 
fications of  its  facts  for  some  effective  purpose  are  framed, 
these  principles  become,  as  it  were,  the  scientific  instinct  of 
the  new  and  more  complicated  organization  of  the  mind  in 
its  state  of  acquired  knowledge;  just  as,  in  its  own  way,  the 
original  and  more  simple  organization  of  nature  exercises  its 
limited  and  merely  animal   instinct." — Rush. 

To  read  naturally,  therefore,  must  not  consist  in 
reproducing  any  mere  accidents  of  expression,  so 
to  speak,  but  the  ability  on  the  part  of  the  reader 
to  draw  from  the  great  heart  of  nature  that  vocal 
power  and  meaning  which  thrills  through  language, 
universally  recognized  and  always  simple,  appropri- 
ate,  strong,    and  beautiful. 

This  idea  of  expressing  the  language  of  an  author 
"naturally"  is,  however,  with  a  large  class  of  peo- 
ple, interpreted  to  mean  in  the  reader's  familiar 
and  colloquial  manner  of  speech,  —  that  is,  in  his 
usual  or  ordinary  conversational  mode  or  habit  of 
expressing  himself.  The  rule  indeed  is  sometimes 
given,  "Read  as  you  talk."     Assuming  this  familiar 


Popular  Erj'ors.  201 

utterance  to  be  perfect  of  its  kind,  —  that  is,  serving 
its  own  end  faultlessly,  —  it  can  not  even  then  meet 
all  the  requirements  of  a  truly  natural  or  appropri- 
ate expression  in  reading  and  oratory.  In  many 
respects,  of  course,  a  familiar,  "natural"  manner, 
as  it  is  called,  possesses  claims  upon  our  attention. 
But  let  it  be  remembered  that,  while  suitable  in 
certain  forms  of  reading  and  speaking,  such  a  style 
of  utterance  is  not  the  language  of  exalted  imagina- 
tion or  heroic  ideas.  We  must  not  only  contem- 
plate, but  reproduce,  such  language  from  the  stand' 
point  of  one  who  conceived  it  in  the  white  heat 
of  inspiration,  —  the  fervor  and  glow  of  kindled 
genius.  We  may,  indeed,  by  uttering  such  lan- 
guage colloquially  and  familiarly,  express  ourselves 
in  a  manner  natural  to  ourselves  in  the  ordinary 
affairs  of  life,  but  it  will  certainly  not  be  express- 
ing the  author  naturally. 

Does  not  naturalness  of  effect  in  all  expression 
mean  a  fitness  or  congruity,  an  adaptation  of  the 
proper  means  to  the  desired  end?  Admitting  this, 
it  must  follow  that,  in  order  to  be  able  to  express 
the  thoughts  of  a  writer  as  if  they  were  our  own, 
implies,  in  many  cases,  the  necessity  of  rising  in 
our  vocal  utterance  to  modes  and  forms  commen- 
surate with  the  beauty  or  grandeur  of  the  ideas  of 
the  creative  spirit,  and  the  verbal  mold  into  which 
they  are  cast,  instead  of  dwarfing  them  into  the 
familiar,  the  commonplace,  and  even  the  flippant. 
Poetry,  for  example,  is  the  medium  by  which  men 
'  seek  to  give  utterance  to  fullness  of  feeling  and 
emotion  too  great  for    the  limited   expressive  effect 


202         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Lmiguage. 

of  language  in  its  ordinary  every-day  use.  It  is 
an  attempt  to  excite  a  sympathetic  realization  of 
the  sublime  or  the  beautiful,  in  minds  of  a  con- 
genial nature,  by  means  of  a  figurative,  exalted 
language,  that  soars  above  the  regions  of  common- 
place expression  required  for  the  practical  affairs 
of  life.  It  is  always  suggestive,  not  literal.  Its 
utterance,  therefore,  requires  vocal  modes  which 
must  excite  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer  something 
beyond  the  impressions  he  receives  in  matter-of- 
fact  recitals,  or  dry  statements  of  mere  intellectual 
comprehension. 

The  tones  employed  in  reading  poetry  must, 
therefore,  be  something  more  than  the  ordinary 
range  of  utterance, — the  same  in  kind,  but  more  ex- 
tended in  degree.  They  must  be  natural,  but  yet 
in  nature's  happiest  vein,  her  most  elevated  mode 
of  expression.  The  same  is  true  of  the  higher 
drama,  of  elevated  prose, —  in  short,  of  all  that 
language  of  genius  and  inspiration  which  represents 
the  finer  and  nobler  part  of  man. 

There  is,  unfortunately,  a  strong  tendency  in  the 
drama,  the  public  speaking,  and  the  reading  of  the 
present  day,  to  dwarf  the  ideal,  the  heroic,  and 
the  classic  into  a  conformity  with  the  limited  in- 
terpretation of  this  term  "natural,"  of  which  we 
have  spoken.  A  great  actor  of  the  present  time 
(Jefferson)  speaking  in  deprecation  of  the  tendency 
toward  the  familiar,  colloquial  treatment  of  the 
language  of  Shakespeare's  tragic  heroes,  for  exam- 
ple, once  said  to  me,  ' '  They  are  not  men  merely 
six    feet   high,    but    sixteen;" — a    copy    of    nature 


Popular  Eri'oi'S,  203 

indeed,  but  on  a  grand  colossal  plan ;  Snd  the 
effort  to  reduce  them  to  the  ordinary  unidealized 
pattern,  by  a  familiarity  or  flippancy  in  the  ut- 
terance of  their  language,  is  only  to  produce  an 
incongruous  effect,  often  amounting  to  absurdity. 
Let  this  popular  idea  of  naturalness  be  followed 
in  reading  much  of  the  Bible  or  of  Milton  and 
Shakespeare,  and  we  sin  against  the  author  and 
the  language  by  robbing  the  latter  of  its  beauty, 
sublimity,   and   power. 

It  is  of  vital  importance,  then,  in  the  proper 
treatment  of  language  in  reading,  to  reflect  in  all 
cases  what  is  a  truly  natural,  in  other  words,  a 
congruous  and  appropriate,  manner  of  treating  our 
subject ;  for  the  least  reflection  must  show  us  that 
to  treat  a  sublime,  heroic,  or  finely  poetic  subject 
familiarly  or  in  the  colloquial  manner,  is  as  much 
a  violation  of  the  unchanging  fitness  of  things  as 
it  would  be  for  the  artist  to  paint  a  Prometheus 
in  the  garment  of  a  modern  drawing-room,  or  to 
represent  a  Psyche  directing  domestic  affairs.  The 
reverse,  of  course,  holds  equally  true.  To  clothe 
an  author's  thoughts,  therefore,  in  vocal  forms 
commensurate  with  the  beauty  or  grandeur  of  his 
ideas,  as  well  as  in  the  lighter  and  more  colloquial 
forms  necessary  at  times  to  their  expression,  should 
be  the  end  of  the  truly  natural^  which  means  the 
truly  artistic,  reader. 


Chapter  II. 
The  Principles  of  Elocution. 

It  has  been  before  stated  that,  in  the  art  of 
reading  or  premeditated  speech,  naturalness  of  effect 
can  only  be  accomplished  by  a  successful  imitation 
of  the  varied  vocal  forms  corresponding  to  similar 
mental  conditions  which  nature  employs  in  unpre- 
meditated utterance ;  and  yet,  to  obtain  a  model 
for  such  imitation  representing  the  best  and  purest 
expression  of  nature,  we  must  look  higher  than  to 
the  spontaneous  expression  of  any  one   individual. 

"Although  a  compensating  nature,  still  holding  her  regards 
over  the  wayward  errors  of  the  human  voice,  may  not,  under 
its  corruptions,  deign  to  show  us  a  single  instance  of  the  fit- 
ness and  beauty  of  her  laws,  she  has,  as  an  indication  of 
her  means  of  perfecting  the  vocal  powers  of  the  individual, 
diffused  throughout  the  species  all  the  constituents  of  that 
perfection.  A  description  of  the  true  character  and  wise  de- 
sign of  these  constituents,  and  the  gathering-in  of  their  scat- 
tered proprieties  and  beauties,  furnish  the  full  and  choicest 
pattern  of  imitable  nature;  which,  reduced  to  an  orderly  sys- 
tem of  precept  and  example,  must  constitute  the  proper  and 
elegant  art  of  elocution.  If,  then,  nature's  excellencies  are 
scattered  throughout  the  species,  art  must  ordain  her  canon 
by  collecting  them  in  one  faultless  example.  The  canon,  so 
called,  of  statuary  in  Greece,  which  represented  no  singly- 
(204) 


P7Hnciples  of  Elocution.  205 

existing  form,  but  which  was  said  to  contain  within  the  rule 
of  its  design  all  the  master  principles  of  the  art,  was  the 
deliberate  work  of  observation,  time,  and  careful  experiment 
on  the  eye,  in  the  very  method  of  reflection  and  discrimi- 
nating selection  we  here  claim  for  elocution." — Rush. 

Perfection  in  the  art  of  elocution,  also,  is  the 
adroit  blending  together  of  diverse  beauties  to  pro- 
duce that  pleasing  effect  which  is  most  nearly  allied 
to  that  which  we  are  pleased  to  call  nature.  Or, 
more  accurately,  it  is  the  province  of  the  art  to 
seek  out  completeness  by  the  means  nature  has 
placed  within  reach,  and  through  the  suggestions 
she  has  given  of  her  own  possibilities,  if  unthwarted 
in  her  original  designs. 

A  French  critic,  in  speaking  of  Shakespeare,  has 
beautifully  said  :  *  *  What  Shakespeare  desired  above 
all  was  the  living  reality,  —  a  reality  which  he  en- 
larged and  exalted  to  the  ideal."  In  this  single 
sentence  we  have  the  summing  up  of  this  whole 
matter  of  naturalness  in  the  art  of  elocution.  We 
want,  indeed,  the  living  reality,  but  we  would  have 
true  natural  expression  idealized  into  its  highest 
possibilities  of  beauty,  grace,  and  power.  To  il- 
lustrate :  All  the  strong  passions  of  the  mind  com- 
municate themselves,  as  we  have  seen,  so  suddenly 
and  irresistibly  to  the  body  that  vehement  gestic- 
ulations and  impassioned  tones  are  the  result. 
These  tones  and  gesticulations  are,  no  doubt,  natural, 
but  they  are  not  always  the  most  perfect  or  grace- 
ful expressions  of  nature.  The  untutored  extrava- 
gancies of  the  ignorant  and  uncouth  under  the  im- 
pulse of  violent  emotion,  though  they  are  perfectly 


2o6         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

intelligible  and  strongly  expressive,  will  often  excite, 
in  the  uncultivated  mind,  a  feeling  of  repulsion  that 
prevents  a  full  sympathy  with  the  passions  so 
coarsely    expressed. 

Thus  nature  may  readily  run  into  deformity,  and 
it  must  be  the  purpose  of  art  and  cultivation  to 
conceal  or  .remove  all  deformities,  for  art  is  called 
in,  not  to  pervert,  but  to  refine  and  exalt  nature. 
Nature,  it  is  true,  will  accomplish  much  without 
art  in  all  human  operations,  and  art  will  be  of  no 
avail  without  nature ;  but  it  is  only  by  a  combina- 
tion of  the  two  that  we  can  produce  perfection  in 
any  thing  that  is  the  workmanship  of  man. 

If  we  take  a  view  of  all  the  elegant  arts, — music, 
architecture,  painting,  dancing,  etc.,  —  we  can  find 
no  one  exactly  as  it  was  when  first  invented.  Cul- 
tivation and  improvement  have  carried  them  far 
beyond  their  original  limits.  The  rude  and  uncouth 
have  been  made  to  give  way  to  the  beautiful  and 
graceful,  and  an  ideal  perfection  has  been  achieved 
far  beyond  that  found  in  the  first,  simple  imitations 
of  nature,  imperfect  as  all  our  untutored  efforts  in 
that  direction  must  necessarily  be. 

In  the  art  of  elocution,  the  two  great  principles 
are  force  and  grace,  —  the  one  derived  chiefly  from 
nature,  the  other  from  art.  United,  they  mutually 
assist  each  other ;  alone,  each  loses  a  portion  of 
its  effectiveness.  Force  of  speaking  may  excite 
emotions  and  convictions ;  grace  or  artistic  intona- 
tion pleases  and  excites  the  imagination.  There  is 
no  agreeable  sensation  we  receive  from  language 
but  is    capable  of  being  heightened    by    the  power 


Principles  of  Eloc2iiion.  207 

of  agreeable,  harmonious,  or  measured  sounds ; 
hence  the  pleasure  we  receive  from  poetic  num- 
bers, and  even  from  the  less  apparent  and  looser 
measure  of  prose.  Deprive  poetry  of  its  figures, 
its  metaphors,  its  measured  numbers,  and  it  be- 
comes the  plain,  unvarnished  expression  of  thought ; 
deprive  speech  of  its  graces,  ornamental  attributes 
of  tone  and  measure,  and  it  becomes  the  short  and 
sharp  action  of  every-day  conversation.  In  order, 
then,  to  please  as  well  as  impress,  we  must  imitate 
the  beauty  and  vigor  of  nature.  To  choose  these 
from  among  all  her  forms,  requires  an  improved  taste, 
made  perfect  by  long  and  continued  study  and  ex- 
ercise. For  all  qualities  of  execution  are  depend- 
ant upon  a  knowledge  and  discrimination  of  the 
truth. 

"All  fine  arts  are  essentially  arts — each  the  offspring  of  a 
fruitful  alliance  between  knowledge  and  intellectual  facility  — 
the  high  accomplishment  of  the  work  by  the  artist,  and  the 
reflective  enjoyment  of  its  truth  and  beauty  by  the  votary, 
being  purely  the  result  of  close  observation,  extensive  com- 
parison, enlightened  choice,  and  harmonized  combination  of 
the  scattered  constituents  of  propriety,  unity,  expression,  grand- 
eur, and  grace." — Rush. 

The  spirit  of  genuine  art  should  be  the  life  of 
all  speech.  It  should  breathe  through  and  animate 
language,  as  the  soul  animates  the  body,  or  the  vi- 
tal principle  permeates  the  trees  and  plants,  build- 
ing up  their  trunks  and  extending  their  branches 
to  the  sun  to  blossom  and  bear  fruit. 

Ease  and  grace  of  execution  in  any  art,  that  of 
speech  among  the  rest,  can  come  only  from  a  dis- 


2o8  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

ciplined  practice,  founded  upon  a  correct  knowledge 
of  the  principles  of  the  art,  and  under  the  guid- 
ance of  an  educated  taste. 

"We  maintain,  against  the  admirers  of  natural  faults  and 
the  decriers  of  artificial  excellence,  that  it  is  not  natural  to 
do  any  thing  well  which  is  liable  to  disturbance  from  igno- 
rance and  the  irregularity  of  the  will." — Barber. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  false  to  suppose  that,  be- 
cause the  voice  is  a  natural  gift,  we  must  leave  its 
development  to  nature  alone  or  unaided.  Like 
most  natural  gifts,  it  comes  to  us  with  marvelous 
capacity  for  improvement,  and  the  full  expansion 
of  its  powers  depends  upon  their  intelligent  exer- 
cise. We  may,  it  is  true,  read  well,  and  even  sing 
well,  "by  ear"  alone,  but  it  is  only  by  a  truly 
scientific  cultivation,  aided  by  discerning  judgment 
and  good  taste,  that  a  thoroughly  artistic  and  ef- 
fective use  of  the  vocal  organs  may  be  acquired. 
A  knowledge  drawn  from  a  correct  observation  of 
the  working  powers  of  the  speaking  voice,  enables 
the  speaker  to  discipline  his  organs  to  a  fitting 
obedience  to  the  dictates  of  his  will  and  the  prompt- 
ing of  his  mental  powers,  in  giving  vocal  impress 
and  character  to  the  language  he  deals  with,  whether 
poetic  or  matter-of-fact,  premeditated  or  extem- 
pore. 

It  can  not  be  denied  that  the  ability  to  effect  this 
is  sometimes  possessed  as  a  special  gift.  But,  while 
allowing  that  such  exceptions  exist,  the  rule  is, — 
the  prevalence  of  undeveloped  powers.  In  the  study 
of  elocution,  then,  nothing  is  more  important  than 
the  method  to  be  employed  in  developing  or  build- 


Principles  of  ElociUion.  209 

ing  up  the  voice,  and  imparting  to  the  student  at 
the  same  time  a  natural  style  of  delivery ;  that  is, 
a  style  in  accordance  with  nature's  own  workings. 
The  two,  indeed,  if  proper  means  be  employed, 
must,  of  necessity,  go  hand-in-hand ;  for,  in  the 
beautiful  economy  of  nature,  the  principles  of  nat- 
ural expression,  properly  applied;  are  those  which 
develop  the  organs  in  the  very  line  of  action  which 
nature  has  marked  out  for  herself. 

Thus,  the  same  principles  to  which  we  are  in- 
debted for  the  ultimate  perfection  and  polish  of  ac- 
complished oratory,  are  those  by  which,  also,  w^e 
are  to  detect  and  remove  the  peculiarities  of  the 
foreigner,  communicate  the  gift  of  speech  to  the 
mute,  and  give  fluency  to  the  convulsive  stammerer. 
The  intimate  connection  between  correct  theory  and 
successful  practice  in  the  art  of  elocution,  and  in 
other  arts  also,  is  well  expressed  by  a  poet,  who 
used  the  lines  for  another  object,  but  who,  uncon- 
sciously, has  made  them  applicable  to  our  immedi- 
ate purpose : 

"Truth  and  good  are  one, 
And  beauty  dwells  in  them,  and  they  in  her, 
With  like  participation." — Barber. 

In  all  efforts,  then,  to  develop  the  latent  pow- 
ers of  the  vocal  organs,  and  to  improve,  by  culti- 
vation, the  quality  of  the  speaking  voice,  the  great- 
est care  should  be  taken  to  follow  where  nature 
leads,  otherwise  mannerisms  and  affectations  of  voice 
are  apt  to  be  acquired,  —  sometimes  from  a  re- 
stricted mode  of  utterance,  arising  from  an  affecta- 
tion of  extreme  nicety  or  elegance  in  pronunciation, 

p.  S.  L.— 18. 


2IO         A  Plea  for  Spoken  LciJiguage. 

and  again  from  adopting  tones  which  are  not,  as 
it  were,  a  free-will  offering  of  the  organs  of  speech, 
but  the  result  of  their  restraint  or  subjection.  This 
is,  of  course,  in  all  cases,  to  create  a  style  of  ob- 
jectionable peculiarity ;  and  such  effects,  which  must 
arise  from  employing  inherently  bad  means  of  oral 
communication,  can  not  fail  in  time  to  deprive  the 
reader  or  speaker  of  all  ease  and  freedom  of  speech, 
impair  the  vocal  organs,  and  cripple  the  beauty  and 
power  of  audible  language. 


Chapter  III. 

Necessity  of  Training  the  Voice. 

The  members  of  the  human  family  possess  in 
common  certain  organs  for  the  purpose  of  speech 
in  all  its  diverse  forms ;  but,  though  alike  in  kind, 
they  differ  with  different  individuals,  not  only  in 
their  degrees  of  strength  and  flexibility,  but  in  the 
peculiar  character  of  their  tone-qualities.  Thus 
each  individual  is  possessed  of  a  voice  by  which 
he  is  distinguished  from  other  human  beings  as 
much  as  by  the  personal  identities  of  feature,  form, 
etc.,  —  certain  expressive  characteristics  distinguish- 
ing the  one  from  the  many.  As  the  mechanical 
appliances  employed  to  develop  muscular  power, 
and  to  secure  grace  of  action  in  the  limbs  and 
easy  carriage  of  the  body,  improve  and  develop 
the  physique  of  the  gymnast  without  rendering 
less  distinct  his  physical  personality,  so  does  proper 
vocal  culture  enlarge  the  powers  and  refine  the 
qualities  of  the  voice  of  the  student,  and  yet,  at 
the  same  time,  does  not  alter  its  identity  as  an 
individual  expression  of  a  distinct  personality.  Un- 
der training,  therefore,  properly  begun  and  car- 
ried to  its  results,  there  is  no  danger  of  creating 
an  artificial   mode  of  expression,   nor  of  imparting 

(211) 


2  12  A  Plea  fo?'  Spokeii  La7iguage. 

to  the  student  a  mechanical  style  of  utterance, — 
both  of  which  objectionable  features,  however,  do 
so  often  mar  the  premeditated  forms  of  spoken 
language  where  the  student  has  not  worked  with 
nature,  —  the  only  method  of  true  art,  —  or  rather, 
through  nature  back  to  accomplished  art.  When 
these  facts  are  accepted  and  properly  reflected  upon, 
the  necessity  will  be  apparent  for  such  a  training 
of  the  voice  as  will  enable  the  reader  or  speaker 
to  distinctly  and  effectively  mark  the  differing  states 
of  mind,  so  as  to  make  the  hearer  fully  sensible 
of  the  changes  from  one  state  to  another,  and  of 
the  special  characteristics  of  each  as  they  pass  be- 
fore him  in  the  panorama  of  vocal  expression. 

There  is  no  one  of  the  faculties  with  which  the 
Creator  has  endowed  humanity  which  is  subject  to 
such  extremes  in  its  development  as  the  faculty 
of  speech.  In  singing,  the  most  rigid  compliance 
with  formulas  established  on  fixed  principles  is  re- 
quired of  the  learner,  together  with  an  almost  slav- 
ish exactitude  in  practice  and  an  unlimited  degree 
of  patient  labor.  While,  in  the  cultivation  of  the 
voice  for  the  purposes  of  expressive  utterance  in 
speech,  how  much  is  left  to  the  natural  instincts 
alone !  Indeed,  special  cultivation  of  the  vocal  or- 
gans for  reading  and  speech  may  be  regarded  as 
the  rare  exception,   and  not  the  general  rule. 

The  vocal  organs  in  speech  are  exercised  to  a 
certain  extent  by  daily  practice,  and  in  proportion 
as  the  ear  becomes  cultivated  or  sensitive  to  sound- 
impressions,  and  the  taste  refined,  we  speak  plainly 
and    agreeably.       But    the    daily    use    of   the    voice 


Traitmig  the   Voice.  213 

employs  but  a  limited  range  of  its  powers,  and 
hence  it  will  be  obvious  that  when  a  person  wishes 
to  exercise  or  exhibit  the  power  and  variety  nec- 
essary in  almost  any  varied  composition,  he  finds 
himself  at  a  loss  for  that  scope  and  control  of 
voice  necessary  to  meet  all  the  demands  of  the 
case.  Let  us  run  through  the  gamut  of  require- 
ments in  reading  and  speaking:  To  enliven  the  so- 
cial circle  by  a  pleasant  and  animated  rendering  of 
some  favorite  author ;  to  read  aloud  in  a  public 
assembly  any  article  or  address  devoted  to  an  ear- 
nest and  forcible  exposition  of  some  popular  theme ; 
to  read  the  impressive,  eloquent,  and  sometimes 
impassioned  essays  of  the  pulpit ;  the  harangues 
of  the  bar,  the  senate,  or  the  rostrum ;  to  give 
utterance  to  the  brilliant  fancies  and  burning 
thoughts  of  the  poet  and  dramatist  upon  the  plat- 
form or  the  stage.  All  these  oral  presentations 
demand  of  the  reader  a  more  extended  vocal  abil- 
ity than  is  furnished  by  the  ordinary  conversational 
use  of  the  voice,  or  by  its  only  occasional  bursts 
of  emotion  or  passion.  The  more  important  and 
impressive  effects  of  artistic  public  delivery  espe- 
cially require  for  their  cultivation  a  more  positive 
and  energized  exercise  of  the  constituent  members 
of  the  voice-making  power.  Says  Boutain,  an  able 
writer  on  this  subject:  "The  kind  of  voice  adapted 
to  the  exercise  of  public  speaking  is  not  the  voice 
of  ordinary  conversation;  it  is  a  larger  utterance." 
What  shall  I  say,  then,  of  the  necessities  of 
vocal  culture  and  the  requisites  of  refined  and  reg- 
ulated taste  and  judgment?      How   shall  I  describe 


214  ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

the  rich  store  of  expressive  means  which  should 
be,  above  all,  at  the  command  of  the  public  speaker; 
the  clergyman  depicting  the  terrors  of  the  final 
judgment  or  the  unutterable  love  of  the  Creator ; 
the  orator  denouncing  the  public  enemy ;  the  law- 
yer pleading  for  the  triumph  of  justice;  or  the  actor, 
inspired  by  language  of  a  Shakespeare,  swelling 
with  the  grandeur  and  power  of  kings,  or  sighing 
in  the  tender  tones  of  the  lover?  These  are  situa- 
tions, indeed,  in  which  the  ordinary  instincts  of 
the  voice  will  not  serve,  in  their  uncultivated  and 
merely  impulsive  efforts,  to  impart  the  soul  of 
thought  and  passion  to  the  language. 

Now,  if  expressive  and  intelligent  vocal  agencies 
are  employed  by  nature  to  give  effect  to  her  myr- 
iad colored  pictures  of  thought  and  feeling,  will 
not  the  man  who  observes  and  studies  these  agen- 
cies, for  the  purpose  of  bringing  them  within  the 
control  of  his  will  for  imitative  purposes,  as  well 
as  for  the  purpose  of  developing  his  vocal  pow- 
ers,—  will  not  such  a  man  possess,  in  reading,  a 
vast  advantage  over  one  who  has  only  the  power 
to  exhibit  to  his  hearers  the  tones  of  mere  con- 
versational habit,  and  tJiat  enfeebled  still  more  by 
the  absence  of  the  exciting  impulse  of  spontaneous 
feeling?  The  latter  will  seldom  be  able  to  attain 
to  any  thing  beyond  a  shadow  of  earnestness  or  a 
semblance  of  feeling,  and  hence  will  fall  short  of 
the  ability  to  create  in  his  hearers  a  sympathetic 
realization  of  his  intended  effects.  His  conception 
of  the  author  may  be  perfect,  but  the  mechanism 
of  execution  not  being  at  his  command,  these  con- 


Training  the    Voice.  215 

ceptions  can  not  be  realized.  He  will  only  misin- 
terpret himself  through  the  distracting  effects  of 
untrained  effort.  Just  in  the  same  way,  the  fluent 
and  eloquent  talker  or  speaker  who  is  unaccustomed 
to  express  himself  in  writing  will,  when  he  attempts 
to  give  his  thoughts  expression  in  this  form,  lose 
the  fervor  and  glow  of  his  inspiration,  and  become 
stiff  and  mannered  in  his  style.  How  often  do  we 
see  an  accomplished  student  or  writer  who  is  called 
upon,  professionally  or  otherwise,  to  stand  before 
his  fellow-men  to  impart  to  them  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  that  have  burned  in  his  own  mind  and 
heart  with  an  almost  inspired  fervor,  deliver  them 
in  such  a  deformed  condition  that  they  are  utterly 
lifeless,  and  fail  to  convey  one  spark  of  that  which 
animated  him !  And  this  simply  because  he  has 
never  been  trained  in  the  mechanism  of  delivery, 
so  to  speak,  by  which  tlie  powers  of  natural  utter- 
ance are  voluntarily  exercised  and  artistically  con- 
trolled in  the  use  of  premeditated  language,  as  he 
has  been  intellectually  developed  with  regard  to 
the  powers  of  its  expression  in  written  forms. 
Walker,    speaking  of  this,    says : 

"Reading  may  be  considered  as  a  species  of  music;  —  the 
organs  of  utterance  are  the  instruments,  but  the  mind  itself 
is  the  performer; — and  therefore,  to  pursue  the  simihtude, 
though  the  mind  may  have  a  full  conception  of  the  sense  of 
an  author,  and  be  able  to  judge  nicely  of  the  execution  of 
others,  yet,  if  it  has  not  imbibed  the  habit  of  performing  on 
its  own  instrument,  no  expression  will  be  produced.  There- 
is  a  certain  mechanical  dexterity  to  be  acquired  before  the 
beautiful  conceptions  we  possess  can  be  communicated  to 
others." 


2 1 6         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

It  may  be  said  of  the  uncultivated  voice  what 
Addison  has  said  of  the  human  soul,  —  that  "it  is 
like  the  marble  of  the  quarry,  which  shows  but  a 
small  part  of  its  beauty  until  the  skill  of  the  pol- 
isher brings  out  the  colors,  makes  the  surface  brill- 
iant as  the  crystal,  and  discovers  every  ornamental 
cloud-spot  running  through."  In  other  words,  the 
uncultivated  voice  is  the  raw  material  out  of  which 
is  wrought  the  thing  of   use  and  beauty. 

But,  it  will  be  asked,  is  it  possible  for  all  to 
learn  to  read  and  speak  well?  Not  all  equally  well, 
as  in  what  art  can  we  find  uniform  excellence? 
But  where  it  is  possible,  for  example,  for  a  man 
to  write  a  good  sermon  or  to  compose  an  effective 
argument  or  address,  it  is  just  as  possible  for  such 
a  man  to  effectively  deliver  it  from  memory  or  read 
it  from  the  manuscript  with  all  the  fervor  of  spirit 
and  force  of  feeling  which  enabled  him  to  give 
fitting  expression  to  the  subject  through  the  me- 
dium of  his  pen.  For,  where  there  is  soul  and 
mind,  the  vocal  means  to  express  them  are  always 
attainable.  Nothing  can  stand  in  the  way  of  such 
ability  but  a  lack  of  perfect  construction  in  the 
vocal  organs  or  a  disinclination  to  undertake  the 
necessary  study.  A  full  command  at  will  of  all 
the  various  movements  of  the  voice  in  their  appli- 
cation to  premeditated  speech,  is  as  attainable  to 
the  student  of  elocution  as  force  and  nicety  of 
touch  to  the  pianist,  or  as  the  quick  and  supple 
movement  of  the  wrist  in  the  skillful  use  of  the 
rapier  to  the  fencer.  All  that  is  necessary  is  that 
there  shall  be  well  directed  and  persistent  labor  in 


Trainiiig  the    Voice.  2 1  7 

the  discipline  of  the  vocal  organs,  without  which  the 
student  can  not  hope  to  bring  the  expressive  agen- 
cies of  speech  within  his  grasp  in  a  cultivated 
sense. 

Discipline  may  not  in  every  case  win  the  battle, 
nor  practice  make  the  orator,  but  without  them  the 
means  of  victory  are  lessened,  and  the  chances  are 
against  success.  It  may  be  urged  that  many  use 
their  voices  successfully  in  a  professional  way  with- 
out the  training  of  which  we  speak  here.  This  is 
indeed  true,  but  they  accomplish  unconsciously, 
often  through  the  necessities  of  circumstance,  —  as  is 
often  the  case  with  the  actor, — what  he  might  have 
been  taught  intelligently,  free  from  the  errors  that 
the  teachings  of  accident  must  necessarily  engraft. 
But  even  admitting  native  ability  to  have  a  large 
part  in  execution,  the  natural  speaker,  as  he  is 
called,  or  the  man  who  speaks  from  impulse  only, 
however  great  his  effects  when  he  is  aroused  by 
feeling,  finds  at  times  that  he  can  not  excite  that 
sympathetic  fervor  on  the  part  of  his  auditors  that 
he  desires.  Here  the  trained  speaker  has  the  ad- 
vantage, having  the  arm  of  art  to  lean  upon  when 
nature  fails  him,  —  that  is,  being  familiar  with  all 
the  modes  of  expression,  and  master  of  the  methods 
of  producing  them,  from  an  intelligent  knowledge 
of  the  vocal  forms  corresponding  to  the  mental 
states  of  emotion,  thought,  and  passion,  he  com- 
mands his  effects  when  he  will.  In  order,  there- 
fore, to  be  able  to  stir  the  blood,  to  melt  to  love 
or  pity,  or  to  rouse  to  anger  or  indignation,  the 
speaker  must  have  at  his  command,  not  only    "wit 

p.  S    L.--19. 


2  1 8         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

and  worth  and  words,  but  action  and  utterance, 
and  all  the  powers  of  speech,  'to  stir  men's  blood.'  " 
In  the  commencement  of  his  studies  it  is  neces- 
sary, then,  that  the  student  of  elocution  should  be 
taught  ci'ciy  tiling  that  is  comprehended  in  a  perfect 
utterance  of  language  under  its  various  modifica- 
tions in  speech.  Articulation,  intonation  in  all  its 
varied  forms,  qualities  of  voice,  management  of 
pauses,  etc.,  must  all  be  governed  by  rules,  or  at 
least  directed  by  principles. 

"But  Archbishop  Whately  —  and  his  opinion  only  repre- 
sents that  of  a  large  class — is  sure  that  if  a  person  is  taught 
to  read  on  what  he  calls  'the  artificial  system,'  he  will  be 
constantly  thinking  of  the  manner  rather  than  the  matter; 
and  will  consequently  fail  to  give  satisfaction  to  his  hearers. 
But  why  does  he  think  so  ?  He  has  taken  great  pains  to 
instruct  his  hearers  in  the  principles  of  logic  and  rhetoric. 
Would  not  the  same  objection  lie  against  either  of  these 
branches  of  knowledge  ?  But,  he  would  answer,  the  student 
is  to  become  so  imbued  with  the  principles  of  these  arts  that 
he  applies  the  rules  without  really  thinking  of  them  at  the 
time,  and  yet  he  could  not  violate  them  without  being  at 
once  conscious  of  the  fact." — Guinnicre. 

Why  should  not  the  same  apply  to  the  princi- 
ples and  rules  of  elocution?  Is  it  reasonable  that 
in  this  department  of  education  alone  all  logical 
deductions  should  be  set  aside  ?  It  would,  of  course, 
be  absurd,  as  I  have  acknowledged,  to  deny  the 
existence  of  superior  ability  and  great  natural  gifts 
in  the  case  of  some  particularly  favored  individu- 
als, in  this  as  in  other  arts ;  but  it  is  equally  ab- 
surd to  deny  in  this  art  to  the  mass  of  students 
that  which  is  granted  them  in  every  other ;   namely, 


Trainino^  the   Voice.  2  1 9 

the  means  to  double  their  "one  talent,"  if  such 
it  be,  or  of  their  five  to  make  ten.  I  certainly 
admit  that  while  the  rule  is  present  to  the  mind, 
the  student  will  be  awkward  and  confused,  and  the 
constant  fear  of  mistake  will  make  him  more  con- 
strained and  irresolute  than  if  he  were  to  give  way 
to  his  habitual  manner,  for  every  thing  executed 
by  the  line  and  measure  of  prescribed  rules  is  at 
first  formal,  severe,  and  stiff.  But  use  is  second 
nature.  The  awkwardness  wears  off  in  time,  and 
the  proper  exjecution  becomes  free  and  natural  to 
him ;  then  it  is  the  mere  rule  is  forgotten,  while 
the  principle  which  underlies  it  becomes,  as  it  were, 
fused  into  the  very  nature  of  the  artist,  for  artist  he 
is  when  arriving  at  results  through  such  intelligent 
discipline.  The  beauty  and  force  thus  acquired  of 
accomplished  elocution  obliterates  all  the  stilted 
stiffness  and  measured  movements  that  are  to  be 
observed  in  the  processes  of  discipline  and  practice. 

"/«  all  art  it  is  necessary  to  kfiotu  ivhat  is  to  be  done  and 
luliat  means  are  to  be  thoughtfully  employed  to  do  it  well; 
to  practice  its  rules,  at  first,  perhaps,  awkwardly,  in  closely 
and  slowly  thinking  of  their  application,  and  thus,  by  fre- 
quent repetition,  to  enable  the  act  to  so  far  wean  itself  from 
the  directive  thought  as  to  become  an  efficacious  habit;  and 
finally  to  use  a  full  knowledge  of  the  art  with  almost  the 
unconscious  power  of  what  we  have  metaphorically  called  a 
scientific  instinct.  The  purely  acquired  human  art  of  swim- 
ming, unassisted  by  instinct,  though  learned  with  tedious  ef- 
fort, directed  by  earnest  thought,  and  only  mastered  at  last 
by  careful  attention  to  every  imitative  and  embarrassing  mo- 
tion, is  afterwards,  from  that  attention  fading  into  habit,  suc- 
cessfully employed  in  danger  with  the  thought  only  of  the 
shore  to  be  reached  and  the   life  to  be  saved." — Rush. 


2  20  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

'  The  nicety  of  execution  in  the  initiatory  steps  of 
the  dancing  school  leads  to  the  freedom  and  grace 
of  movement  which  constitute  the  poetry  of  mo- 
tion ;  so  do  the  exact  and  formal  elementary  exer- 
cises of  elocutionary  training  lead  to  that  full  com- 
mand over  the  powers  of  the  voice  which  enables 
the  speaker  or  reader  to  give  constant  variety, 
force,  and  beauty  to  expressive  language,  with  per- 
fect readiness  and  ease.  The  student  of  elocution 
will  be  no  more  subjected  to  the  consideration  of 
rules,  as  rules,  after  he  has  mastered  their  principles 
and  applied  them  practically  to  the  purposes  of 
speech,  than  the  student  of  rhetoric  or  grammar  is 
compelled  to  have  the  mere  form  of  his  early  les- 
sons in  his  mind's  eye,  by  which  to  arrange  his 
words  or  construct  his  sentences,  when  he  comes 
to  employ  language  in  a  practical  way.  Who  does 
not  remember  the  struggle  through  which  the  mind 
and  memory  were  compelled  to  pass  in  order  to 
accomplish  the  tasks  imposed  by  these  studies? 
And  who  has  not,  in  his  after  life,  had  occasion 
to  wonder  at  the  fact  of  being  so  entirely  independ- 
ent of  an  exactly  realizing  sense  of  the  mere  forms 
and  technical  character  of  his  school  lessons,  in 
the  ease  with  which  he  indites  a  letter  or  other 
literary  composition,  or  gives  correct  oral  expres- 
sion to  his  thoughts?  Is  it  not  plain,  then,  that 
our  present  ability  to  deal  with  written  language 
seemingly  at  the  promptings  of  present  instinct  and 
impulse  is  mainly  owing  to  what  we  formerly  con- 
sidered the  drudgery  of  the  schools,  the  rules  and 
discipline  of  which  have  come  to  almost  impercepti 


« 


Traiyiinc  the    Voice.  221 


"<?> 


bly  perform  their  functions  in  compliance  with  our 
demands,  Hke  the  works  of  the  clock,  which  are 
hidden  from  the  ^ye,  while  the  movements  of  the 
hands  arc  distinctly  marking  the  flight  of  time. 

So  it  is  with  the  accomplished  painter,  who,  while 
making  his  canv^as  quick  with  life,  has  no  occasion 
to  cool  the  fervor  of  his  enthusiasm  in  his  final 
execution  by  stopping  to  consult  elementary  prin- 
ciples of  the  schools.  These  have  been  mastered 
and  absorbed  by  his  mind ;  they  have  become 
part,  as  it  were,  of  his  very  self,  and  exercise  them- 
selves almost  unconsciously  in  his  work,  holding 
him  within  the  limits  of  truth,  propriety,  and  good 
taste,  but  never  restricting  either  his  individuality 
or  his  genius.  These  acquired  principles,  on  the 
contrary,  furnish  the  means  through  which  his  abil- 
ity or  genius  is  to  develop  itself  The  practical 
details  of  their  application  form,  as  it  were,  the 
scaffolding  by  which  he  is  enabled  to  advance,  stage 
by  stage,  to  the  completion  of  his  structure  of  per- 
fected art,  and  which,  no  longer  needed,  drops 
down,  leaving  no  trace  of  its  original  unsightliness. 
Freed  from  the  hampering  effects  of  mere  mechan- 
ical incapacity,  natural  ability  is  enabled  to  soar 
into  the  ideal  regions  of  its  own  conception.  The 
beholder  who  gazes  upon  the  works  of  a  true  artist, 
while  he  enjoys  the  consummate  beauty  of  the  art 
as  expressed  in  the  creation  before  him,  is  secure 
from  the  obtrusion  of  any  visible  appearance  of  the 
mechanism  by  which  the  skillful  master  was  enabled 
to  arrive  at  such  an  exhibition  of  beauty  and  truth. 
Indeed,    the    artist  himself   may,    in  time,    even  for- 


2  22  A  Plea  for  Spoke?t  LMiigiiage. 

get    these    practical    details    by    which    his    creation 
was  wrought    to  perfection  ;    but  still  from  these  it 

grew,    and,     without    them,    could    never    have    ex- 

fc>        '  '  '  » 

pressed  the  same  result. 

In  the  same  way,  in  elocution,  precision  and 
disciplined  routine  in  the  modes  of  practice,  while  the 
youth  is  under  the  eye  and  direction  of  the  master, 
become  the  self-imposed  restrictions  of  the  gradu- 
ated student.  The  mechanism  of  execution  once 
perfectly  under  control,  the  higher  powers  of  the 
imagination  and  the  superior  intelligence  are  enabled 
to  work  untrammeled,  and  thus  to  develop  the 
greatest  possibilities  of  native  talent.  "All  art," 
says  Goethe,  * '  must  be  preceded  by  a  certain 
mechanical  expertness. "  This  once  acquired,  free- 
dom of  touch  and  breadth  of  effect  when  giving 
scope  to  the  imagination,  and  tangible  forms  to  the 
conceptions  of  the  mind,  in  obedience  to  the  cre- 
ative will,  are  alike  the  privilege  of  the  painter,  the 
writer,   and  the   speaker. 

The  individual  mode  of  expression  peculiar  to 
each  person  wall,  of  course,  depend,  in  elocution  as 
in  the  other  fine  arts,  upon  his  perceptions  and 
imagination.  Each  will  see  and  feel,  with  regard 
to  any  object  of  perception  or  emotion,  according 
to  the  nature  of  his  own  mind  and  characteristics ; 
and  each  individual  will  therefore  have  a  manner 
and  style  peculiar  to  himself,  although,  in  the  main, 
the  style  of  all  persons  must  be  original  only  within 
the  limitations  of  artistic  truth  and  taste.  In  other 
words,  the  speaker  or  reader  will  always  be  able 
to  mark  his  identity   in  the  execution,    and  exhibit 


Trainiiio-  tJie    Voice.  223 

degrees  of  power  and  excellence,  such  as  are  ap- 
parent in  all  works  of  art  as  produced  by  the  many 
students  of  the  same  master  and  the  master  him- 
self. For,  wh'ere  cultivated  taste  and  disciplined 
execution  are  brought  to  bear  on  elocution,  they 
carry  with  them  the  capability  to  produce  a  variety 
of  effects,  while  ignorance  and  the  want  of  skill,  on 
the  other  hand,  narrows  reading  and  oratory  down 
to  one  mode  of  presentation.  For  example,  a 
dozen  different  orators  or  readers  may  deliver  the 
same  speech  or  read  the  same  selection,  —  and  do  it 
well,  —  in  as  many  different  ways,  their  vocal  ex- 
pression being  governed  in  common  only  by  certain 
laws  of  vocal  effects,  which  separate  the  good  from 
the  bad,  or  the  correct  from  the  incorrect ;  or,  the 
same  individual  may  be  able  to  express  the  same 
matter  well  in  a  variety  of  different  ways,  for  the 
disciplined  and  intelligent  student  has  a  choice  of 
methods,  while  he  who  depends  upon  his  natural 
capabilities  alone  is  too  often  at  a  loss  to  distinguish 
the  available  from  the  unavailable,  and  hence  to 
express  himself  in  all  cases  as  he  would. 


Chapter  IV. 

Art  not  Opposed  to  Nature. 

There  is  no  doubt  that,  owing  to  the  fact  I  have 
before  suggested,  —  namely,  that  reading  and  speak- 
ing have  not  received  the  recognition  due  so  noble 
an  art,  —  imperfect  results  from  imperfect  means,  or 
incomplete  efforts  to  treat  elocution  as  an  art,  have 
been  looked  upon  as  conclusive  evidence  that  read- 
ers, like  poets,  are  born,  not  made,  —  that  is,  not 
made  with  success.  As  I  once  heard  it  expressed, 
"the  student  of  elocution  is  too  apt  always  to  bear 
the  marks  of  the  chisel."  Any  half-completed  work 
of  art  falls  short  of  a  counterpart  of  nature,  and 
hence  produces  the  objectionable  effect  of  artificial- 
ity. A  statue  roughly  cut  from  the  native  marble, 
although  capable,  through  the  patient  labor  of  the 
artist,  of  the  most  exquisite  grace  and  beauty  of 
outline  and  finish,  if  claimed  as  a  work  of  art  be- 
fore these  effects  be  accomplished,  would  be  repu- 
diated as  rude  and  unnatural.  Thus  with  elocution. 
For  where  the  student  stops  short  of  the  full  ac- 
complishment of  art,  and  exhibits  only  its  mechan- 
ism, stiffness  and  artificiality  are  the  inevitable  re- 
sult. 

This,    unfortunately,    is    too    often    the    case,    but 

(224) 


Art  and  Nature.  225 

the  art  of  elocution  itself  should  not  suffer  from  the 
misrepresentations  of  those  of  its  advocates  who 
are  yet  not  true  to  it  to  the  end.  A  little  learn- 
ing in  this  direction  is  an  especially  dangerous 
thing,  for  there  is  between  the  spontaneous,  or  nat- 
ural, and  artistic  delineation  of  emotion  and  pas- 
sion, that  very  delicate  and  even  dangerous  ground 
which  is  said  to  exist  between  the  sublime  and  the 
ridiculous,  and  is  to  be  passed  over  in  a  single 
step.  That  this  step  is  sometimes,  nay  often,  taken, 
can  be  no  argument  against  the  genuine  means  of 
art  for  arriving  at  the  desired  end  of  true  natural- 
ness of  effect  in  speech. 

"Art  and  nature  are  not  opposites;  the  former  is  the  end 
of  the  latter;  the  latter  the  means  to  the  former.  To  be  nat- 
ural does  not  come  by  nature,  but  by  art,  and  art  itself  is 
nature.  Elocution,  therefore,  is  none  the  less  natural  that  it 
must  be  studied  as  an  art,  and  the  study  of  this  art  is  not 
to  be  condemned,  whatever  condemnation  may  be  due  to  the 
errors  of  elocutionists." — Chambers' s  Encyclopcvdia. 

Dr.  Barber,  in  his  first  publication,  has  the  fol- 
lowing, which  is  most  appropriate  in  this  connec- 
tion : 

"If  it  should  be  suspected  that  the  mode  of  instruction  de- 
duced from  the  elements  accompanying  this  essay  might  lead 
to  an  artificial  and  measured  formality,  it  may  be  answered, 
that  such  a  mode  is  founded,  not  in  inventive  art,  but  on 
practical  analysis;  that  its  direct  object  is  to  secure  that 
identical  effect  which  every  graceful  speaker,  in  his  happiest 
moments  of  harmony  and  fittency,  intuitively  attains;  that  a 
strict  analysis  of  the  inspiring  exertions  of  such  moments  in 
a  Chatham  or  a  Henry,  would  elicit  the  very  rules  which 
are  to  secure  a  successful  imitation.  In  these  opinions  I  am 
sustained  by  high  authority. 


226         A  Plea  for  Spokeii  Language. 

"'In  all  these,  I  am  very  sensible  that  the  utility  of  sys- 
tematical rules  has  been  called  in  question  by  philosophers 
of  note;  and  that  many  plausible  arguments  in  support  of 
their  opinion  may  be  derived  from  the  small  number  of  in- 
dividuals who  have  been  regularly  trained  to  eminence  in  the 
arts,  in  comparison  with  those  who  have  been  guided  merely 
by  untutored  genius  and  the  example  of  their  predecessors. 
But,  in  all  such  instances,  in  which  philosophical  principles 
have  failed  in  producing  their  intended  effect,  I  will  venture 
to  assert  that  they  have  done  so,  either  in  consequence  of 
errors  which  were  accidentally  blended  with  them,  or  in  con- 
sequence of  their  possessing  only  that  slight  and  partial  in- 
Jluencc  over  the  genius  which  enabled  thent  to  derange  its 
previously  acquired  habits,  without  regulatiiig  its  operations, 
tipon  a  systematical  plaji,  with  steadiness  and  efficacy.  In  all 
the  arts  of  life,  whether  trifling  or  important,  there  is  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  skill  which  may  be  obtained  by  our  untutored 
powers,  aided  by  imitation;  and  this  skill,  instead  of  being 
perfected  by  rules,  may,  by  means  of  them,  be  diminished 
or  destroyed  if  these  rules  are  partially  and  imperfectly  ap- 
prehended, or  even  if  they  are  not  so  familiarized  to  the 
understanding  as  to  influetice  its  exertions  uniformly  and  ha- 
bitually. In  the  case  of  a  musical  performer  who  has  learned 
his  art  merely  by  the  ear,  the  first  effects  of  systematical  in- 
struction are,  I  believe,  always  unfavorable.  The  effect  is 
the  same  of  the  rules  of  elocution.  But  it  does  not  follow 
from  this  that  in  either  of  these  arts  rules  are  useless.  It 
only  follows  that,  in  order  to  unite  ease  and  grace  with  cor- 
rectness, and  to  preserve  the  felicities  of  original  genius 
amidst  those  restraints  which  may  give  them  a  useful  direc- 
tion, it  is  necessary  that  the  acquisitions  of  education  should, 
by  long  and  early  habits,  be  rendered,  in  some  measure,  a 
second  nature.'"  (Stewart's  '-'Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of 
the  Human  Mind,"  Introduction,  p.  59,  Part  II.)  —  Barber. 

The  French  critic,  Gustave  Planche,  in  speaking 
of  a  great  P^nghsh  actor,  gives  a  beautiful  idea  of 
the  effect  of  real  and  perfected  art: 


i 


Art  and  Nahwe.  227 

"  He  did  not  wait  until  the  eyes  of  the  muUitiidq  were  upon 
him  to  invent  the  means  of  moving  it.  He  came  upon  the 
stage  armed  with  a  foreseeing  power,  resolved  in  advance  upon 
determined  gestures,  upon  studied  intonations.  The  magnetic 
influence  exercised  over  the  actor  by  the  two  thousand  faces 
over  which  he  was  about  to  reign,  did  not  take  him  unawares; 
but  with  him,  as  with  the  great  orators,  as  with  Demosthenes 
and  Mirabcau,  the  will  resembled  destiny, —  it  commanded, 
but  while  itself  obeying  a  superior  power." 

It  can  not  be  denied  that  the  artist  who  has  made 
himself  familiar,  by  previous  study,  with  the  read- 
ings, gestures,  and  perfected  action  of  the  char- 
acter he  is  about  to  personate,  may,  under  the 
inspiration  of  the  moment,  produce  effects  not  re- 
solved upon.  The  following,  from  "Oxbury's  Dra- 
matic Biography,"  in  allusion  to  the  great  English 
actress,  Francis  Maria  Kelly,  may  be  appropriately 
quoted  in  this  connection : 

"Being  generally  called  'The  Child  of  Nature,'  many  per- 
sons imagine  that  she  always  acts  on  the  immediate  impulse 
of  the  moment.  This  is  not  the  fact.  A  perfect  picture  is 
not  produced  at  a  sketch;  and,  whilst  we  are  upon  this  sub- 
ject, we  shall  pause  to  make  a  few  observations  on  what  is 
termed  'natural  acting.'  The  majority  of  persons  uphold  the 
system  of  impulsive  acting,  or,  to  be  clearer,  that  school  of 
acting  where  the  performer  settles  in  his  mind  merely  the 
broad  outline  of  his  character,  and  fills  up  at  night,  ad 
libihan.  The  general  failing  of  those  who  thus  act  from  im- 
mediate impulse,  is  mannerism.  Our  natures  do  not  vary 
with  the  character,  or  with  the  night;  therefore,  acting  on 
impulse,  we  must  eternally  represent  ourselves,  rather  than 
the  author,  till  we  tire  by  reiteration ;  whereas,  a  studied 
actor,  having  arranged  in  his  mind  what  he  intends  doing, 
goes  forth  to  the  stage  to  represent  a  creature  of  his  fancy ; 
and  though  he  may,  in  consequence,   be  colder  in   his  style 


2  28         A  Plea  f 07^  Spoken  Language. 

than  the  devotee  of  the  other  system,  the  chances  are  ten  to 
one  that  he  is  more  consistent,  and  more  original.  Actors 
from  impulse  are  always  unequal.  If  the  excitement  they 
receive  from  applause  be  less  than  usual,  they  will  become 
flat  and  insipid  in  the  very  scenes  that,  on  a  previous  even- 
ing, they  rendered  vigorous  and  inspiring;  besides,  in  the 
casualties  of  existence,  whatever  has  in  the  day  operated  on 
their  feelings  in  real  life,  they  will  communicate,  at  night,  to 
the  character  of  the  mimic  scene.  It  is  only  when  study  de- 
generates into  precision,  that  it  becomes  displeasing.  The 
most  finished  actor  may  find  something  occur  to  him,  during 
the  fervor  of  acting,  that  would  never  have  been  thought  of 
in  the  closet ;  as  the  general  may  find  a  maneuver  present 
itself  in  the  field  that  he  did  not  dream  of  in  his  camp. 
Then,  indeed,  when  impulse  aids  study,  it  becomes  valuable." 

And  one  of  our  best  writers  on  Rush,  in  speak- 
ing of  what  constitutes  a  truly  eloquent  man,  has 
well  said : 

"He  will  present  nothing  but  what  under  the  circumstances 
is  prompted  by  nature;  nature,  not  as  opposed  to  a  deliberate 
effort  to  adopt  the  best  means  to  the  best  ends,  and  to  do 
what  is  to  be  done  as  well  as  possible — for  this,  though  in 
one  sense  is  art,  is  also  the  purest  nature — but  nature  as  op- 
posed to  whatever  is  inconsistent  with  the  idea  that  the  man 
is  under  the  dominion  of  genuine  feeling,  and  bent  upon 
taking  the  directest  path  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  object. 
True  eloquence  is  not  like  some  painted  window,  which  not 
only  transmits  the  light  of  day,  variegated  and  tinged  with  a 
thousand  hues,  but  calls  away  attention  from  its  proper  use 
to  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  the  artist's  doings,  but  it  is  a 
perfectly  transparent  medium,  transmitting  light,  without  sug- 
gesting a  thought  about  the  medium  itself." 

Let  it  be  but  once  acknowledged  that  nature  does 
not  work  without  specific  laws  of  cause  and  effect 
in  the   production    of  vocal    expression    in    speech 


Art  and  Naiiwe.  229 

any  more  than  she  docs  in  the  production  of  any- 
other  natural  phenomena,  that  these  laws  are  un- 
derstood and  may  be  mastered,  and  through  this 
means  the  best  effects  of  nature  be  reproduced, 
and  we  have  the  requisites  necessary  for  classifying 
elocution  as  a  true  art.  And,  by  learning  the  se- 
crets of  nature  through  her  laws,  we  come  into 
possession  of  the  key  to  unlock  the  mysteries  of 
her  ultimate  perfection,  the  possibilities  of  which 
then  lie  within  the  reach  of  intelligence  and  will. 

"  Established  principles  are  not  as  the  barrier  of  a  flood, 
which,  in  protecting  from  inroad,  sometimes  prevents  the  op- 
portunities of  further  conquest,  but  as  the  guide  and  escort 
of  the  arts  to  acquisitions  of  wider  glory." — Rush. 

We  have  seen  that  the  powers  and  actions  of  the 
vocal  organs  afford  an  infinity  of  combinations  to 
effect  all  the  different  purposes  of  speech.  To  per- 
suade or  to  command,  to  express  pity  or  contempt, 
or  irony  or  indignation ;  to  terrify,  to  reproach,  to 
applaud,  or  to  condemn,  —  there  is  not  one  single 
state  of  the  mind  that  can  not  find  an  expressive 
utterance  in  the  tones  and  various  modifications  of 
the  voice.  These  vocal  phenomena,  then,  having 
been  copied  from  their  highest  possible  expression 
in  nature  and  brought  within  the  control  of  the 
will  through  the  careful  exercise  of  the  organs  of 
speech,  familiarized  to  the  mind,  and  brought  into 
full  sympathy  with  the  emotional  powers,  will  be- 
come subservient  to  the  demands  of  the  brain  or  the 
heart. 

What  is  meant  here  by  bringing  these  elements 
of  vocal   expression    into    full    sympathy   with    the 


230         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

emotional  powers  (and  I  speak  of  this  more  ex- 
plicitly because  a  proper  understanding  of  it  must 
dispel  the  idea  that  a  mechanical  effect  must  be 
the  result  of  art  in  elocution)  may  be  explained  as 
follows :  The  natural  vocal  modes  of  expression 
which  represent  certain  states  of  the  mind  being  at 
the  command  of  the  artist  to  produce,  will  excite 
the  mind  when  executed  to  that  condition  of  which 
they  are  the  natural  result  in  expression.  For  just 
as  the  natural  excitement  of  feeling  produces  cer- 
tain effects  in  vocal  expression,  so  these  effects 
created  by  art  will  at  once  induce,  through  the 
sympathy  arising  from  the  inseparable  connection 
between  mental  state  and  vocal  sign,  that  state,  or 
those  states,  of  mind  which,  in  spontaneous  utter- 
ance, would  have  been  their  producing  cause. 
Having  command,  then,  at  will,  through  art,  of  the 
various  vocal  signs,  we  have  the  key  to  that  real 
state  of  mind  of  which  they  are  the  indication ; 
art  thus  having  the  effect  to  arouse  and  enlist  the 
natural  feeling  in  her  cause,  and  not  to  create 
merely  a  cold  and  formal  result.  Walker  has  well 
expressed  this  idea  in  the  following  passage,  although 
the  imitation  of  which  he  speaks  is  rather  that  blind 
imitation  which  does  not  imply  an  intelligent  anal- 
ysis of  the  vocal  characteristics  of  emotion  and  pas- 
sion : 

"When  the  voice  assumes  that  tone  which  a  musician 
would  produce  in  order  to  express  certain  passions  or  senti- 
ments in  song,  the  speaker,  like  the  perform^  on  a  musical 
instrument,  is  wrought  upon  by  the  sound  he  creates;  and, 
though  active  at  the  beginning,  at  length  becomes  passive  by 


I 


Art  and  Natl  we.  231 

the  sound  of  his  own  voice  on  himself.  Hence  it  is  that, 
though  we  frccjuently  begin  to  read  or  speak  without  feehng 
any  of  the  passion  we  wish  to  express,  we  often  end   in  full 

possession  of  it for,  by  the  unitation  of  the  passion,  ivc 

meet  it,  as  it  loere,  Jialf  way."' 

Le  Gouve  illustrates  this  point  in  the  following 
anecdote : 

"Madam  Talma  relates  in  her  memoirs  that  once,  when  she 
was  acting  in  the  character  of  Andromache,  she  was  so  deeply 
moved  that,  not  only  the  spectators  wept,  but  she  herself. 
The  tragedy  finished,  one  of  her  admirers  came  to  her,  and, 
taking  her  by  the  hand,  exclaimed,  'O  my  dear  friend!  It 
•was  admirable!  It  was  Andromache  herself!  I  am  sure  you 
imagined  yourself  in  Epirus  and  the  wife  of  Hector ! ' 

"'!!'  she  replied,  laughing,  'not  at  all!' 

"'But  you  were  really  moved,  for  you  were  weeping.' 

"'Yes,  I  was  weeping,  without  doubt.' 

"'But  why?  what  made  you  weep?' 

"'My  voice.' 

'"Your  voice!' 

"'Yes;  it  was  the  expression  which  my  voice  gave  to  the 
sorrows  of  Andromache,  and  not  the  sorrows  themselves.  The 
nervous  tremor  which  ran  through  my  frame  was  the  electric 
thrill  produced  by  my  own  accents.  I  was  at  the  same  time 
auditor  and  actress.     I  magnetized  myself.'  " 

It  is  hoped  that  we  have  now  come  to  a  rational 
understanding  of  the  term  "natural"  in  its  relation 
to  the  use  of  premeditated  language,  which  has 
proved  such  a  Will-o'-the-wisp  to  many  seeking  for 
the  right  way,  and  to  a  realization  of  the  fact 
that  art  in  speech  can  never  be  opposed  to  nature. 
Not  nature  viewed  from  the  limited  horizon  of  one 
undeveloped  individual,  but  from  that  grand  point 
of   view    which    takes   in  all  that    is    best  and  most 


232  A  Plea  for  Spoke?i  Language. 

beautiful  in  the  wider  field  of  human  expression. 
A  point  of  view  from  which  all  narrow  impressions 
that  dwarf  and  contract  the  sensibilities  and  confine 
the  mind  and  soul  within  the  limits  of  personal 
conceits,  dogmatisms,  and  assertive  excellence  will 
be  dissipated,  and  a  wide  view  and  generous  rec- 
ognition of  nature  in  her  broadest  aspects  em- 
braced. The  truth  expressed  in  the  following 
beautiful  lines  of  Longfellow  apply  most  forcibly 
here : 

"Art  is  the  child  of  nature;  yes, 
Her  darhng  child,  in  whom  we  trace 
The  features  of  the  mother's  face, 
Her  aspect  and  her  attitude; 
All  her  majestic  loveliness 
Chastened  and  softened  and  subdued 
Into  a  more  attractive  grace, 
And  with  a  human  sense  imbued. 
He  is  the  greatest  artist,  then. 
Whether  of  pencil  or  of  pen. 
Who  follows  nature.     Never  man. 
As  artist  or  as  artisan. 
Pursuing  his  own  fantasies. 
Can  touch  the  human  heart  or  please. 
Or  satisfy  our  nobler  needs. 
As  he  who  sets  his  willing  feet 
In  nature's  footprints  light  and  fleet. 
And  follows  fearless  where  she  leads." 


Chapter  V. 

The  Adi'antagcs  of  Methodical  Study. 

The  student  of  elocution  must  master  the  rudi- 
ments of  his  art  before  it  is  possible  for  him  to 
effect  an  artistic  display  of  its  beauties.  But  let 
us  see  how  nearly,  -in  the  teaching  of  this  art,  the 
above  requirement  is  met.  One  of  our  prominent 
school  superintendents  once  told  me  that  reading 
or  elocution  was  taught  in  the  schools  as  well  as  it 
could  be.  The  scholar  studied  the  few  rules  con- 
cerning pause,  emphasis,  and  inflection  to  be  found 
in  the  reading  books,  and  then  read  or  recited  in 
accordance  with  those  rules  and  listened  to  the 
suggestive  criticism  of  the  teacher.  "For  the  rest," 
said  he,  "all  depends  on  the  taste,  discrimination, 
and  judgment  of  the  pupil."  And  yet,  if  I  had 
asked  if  music  should  be  taught  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple, by  trusting  chiefly  to  the  taste,  discrimina- 
tion, and  judgment  of  the  pupil,  and  to  a  few  un- 
certain rules,  independent  of  pitch  and  time,  his 
reply  would  doubtless  have  been,  "Oh,  no;  of 
course  the  pupil  must  be  taught  the  elements  of 
music  before  he  can  sing."  The  average  pupil  does 
not  read  well  by  nature  alone,  any  more  than  he 
sings  well  by    nature    alone.       Every  musician  who 

p.  S.  L.-20.  (233) 


234  ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Langnage. 

attempts  to  teach  singing  will  begin  with  elementary 
vocalization,  and  so  should  it  be  with  instruction 
in  speech,  for,  as  we  have  said,  in  order  to  be 
able  to  make  use  of  the  expressive  graces  of  lan- 
guage, we  must  first  gain  an  entire  control  over 
them  by  an  assiduous  study  of  their  elements.  All 
teachers  who  realize  the  truth  of  this  carry  their 
pupils  back  to  the  elements  of  articulation.  But 
the  elements  of  intonation  in  speech  are  either  so 
imperfectly  understood  or  considered  of  so  little 
importance  that  they  are  generally  omitted  or  hur- 
ried over,  in  order  that  the  scholar  may  deal  with 
the  more  important  matter  (so  considered)  of  man- 
aging words  in  sentences,  or  continuous  composi- 
tion. So  it  results  that  the  pupil  of  the  schools 
may  be  a  fair  reader  as  far  as  making  the  sense 
of  his  author  clear  to  the  intelligence  of  his  hear- 
ers, yet,  when  he  comes  to  the  matter  of  express- 
ive reading,  he  too  often  finds  himself  unable  to 
adapt  his  voice  to  the  promptings  of  emotion  or 
passion,  however  well  the  organs  of  speech  may 
articulate  the  symbols  of  thought. 

"It  is  needless  to  offer  arguments  in  favor  of  an  elemen- 
tary didactic  system  to  those  who,  from  experience,  in  ac- 
quiring the  sciences,  have  formed  for  themselves  economical 
and  effective  plans  of  study.  Let  all  others  be  told  that  one, 
and  perhaps  the  only,  reason  why  elocutionists  have  never 
employed  such  a  system  is  that  they  have  overlooked  the 
analytic  j/ieatis  of  ifiquiry  info  the  subject  of  vocal  expression, 
and  have  therefore  wanted  both  the  knowledge  and  the  no- 
menclature for  an  elementary  method  of  instruction.  There 
are  too  many  proofs  in  science  and  art  of  the  success  of  the 
rudimental  method  to   allow  us  to   suppose   the  same  means 


Advantages  of  Study.  '235 

would  not  have  been  adopted  in  elocution  if  they  had  been 
known  to  the  master 

"When  an  attempt  is  made  to  teach  an  art  without  com- 
mencing with  its  simple  elements,  combinations  of  element--, 
pass  with  the  pupil  for  the  elements  themselves,  and  holdinij 
them  to  be  almost  infinite,  he  abandons  his  hopeless  task. 
An  education  by  the  method  we  here  recommend,  reverses 
this  disheartening  duty.  It  reduces  the  seeming  infinity  to 
computable  numbers,  and  furnishes  us  with  an  unexpected 
simplicity  of  means  to  produce  the  unbounded  permutations 
of  speech.  It  would  be  possible,  even  without  regard  to  the 
alphabet,  to  teach  a  savage  to  read  by  directing  him,  word 
by  word,  to  follow  a  master.  And  thus  it  has  been  proposed 
to  teach  elocution  by  a  similar  process  of  imitative  instruc- 
tion ;  but  the  attentive  reader  must  now  know  with  me,  and 
others  may  know  among  themselves  hereafter,  that  the  anal- 
ysis of  words  into  their  alphabetic  elements,  and  the  rudi- 
mental  methods  of  teaching  instituted  thereupon,  do  not  give 
more  facility,  in  the  discriminations  of  the  eye  on  a  written 
page,  than  the  means  here  proposed  will  afford  to  a  student 
of  elocution  who  wishes  to  excel  in  all  the  useful  and  ele- 
gant purposes  of  speech 

"The  human  muscles  are,  at  the  common  call  of  exercise, 
obedient  to  the  will.  Now  there  is  scarcely  a  boy  of  phys- 
ical activity  or  enterprise  who,  on  seeing  a  circus  rider,  does 
not  desire  in  some  way  to  imitate  him, —  to  catch  and  keep 
the  center  of  gravity  through  the  varieties  of  balance  and 
motion.  Yet  this  will  not  prevent  failure  in  the  first  attempts, 
however  close  the  natural  tie  between  his  will  and  his  mus- 
cles may  be.  For,  without  trial,  he  knows  imperfectly  what 
is  to  be  done,  and,  even  with  that  knowledge,  is  unable,  with- 
out long  practice,  to  effect  it.  Th'us  there  are  many  persons 
with  both  thought  and  passion,  who  have  a  free  command 
of  the  voice  on  the  common  occasions  of  life,  who  yet  utterly 
fail  when  they  attempt  to  imitate  the  varied  power  of  the 
habitual  speaker.  When  the  voice  is  prepared  by  elementary 
practice,  thoughts  and  passions  find  the  confirmed  and  pliant 
means  ready  to  effect  a  satisfactory  and  elegant  accomplish- 


236'         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

ment  of  their  purposes.  The  organs  of  speech  are  capable 
of  a  certain  range  of  exertion,  and,  to  fulfill  all  the  demands 
of  a  finished  elocution,  they  should  be  carried  to  the  extent 
of  that  capability.  Actors  with  both  strong  and  delicate  per- 
ceptions, and  who  earnestly  express  them  in  speech,  are  al- 
ways approximating  toward  this  power  in  the  voice,  and  with 
no  more  than  the  assistance  of  a  habitual  exercise,  which 
enlarges  their  instinct,  do  in  time  accjuire  a  command  over 
the  forms  and  degrees  of  pitch  and  stress  and  time,  without 
the  actor  himself  being  at  all  aware  of  the  how  and  the  what 
of  his  vocal  attainments,  or  having,  perhaps,  one  intelligent 
or  intelligible  idea  of  the  ways,  means,  and  effects  of  their 
application.  The  elementary  method  of  instruction  here  pro- 
posed, being  founded  on  the  analysis  of  speech,  at  once  points 
out  to  the  actor  what  is  to  be  desired  and  attained,  and  how 
every  vocal  purpose  of  thought  and  passion  should  be  ful- 
filled. 

"After  all  that  has  been  said,  the  best  contrived  scheme 
will  be  of  little  avail  without  the  utmost  zeal  and  persever- 
ance on  the  part  of  the  learner.  It  is  an  impressive  saying 
by  an  elegant  genius  of  the  Augustan  age,  who  drew  his 
maxims  from  the  Greek  tragedy,  and  illustrated  it  by  his  own 
life  and  fame,  that  '  nothing  is  given  to  mortal  without  in- 
defatigable labor,'  meaning  that  works  of  surpassing  merit, 
and  supposed  to  proceed  from  a  peculiar  endowment  by 
Heaven,  are  in  reality  the  product  of  hard  and  unremitting 
industry.  It  is  pitiable  to  witness  the  hopes  and  conceits  of 
ambition  when  unassisted  by  its  required  exertions.  The  art 
of  reading  well  is  an  accomplishment  that  all  desire  to  pos- 
sess, many  think  they  have  already,  and  that  few  set  about 
to  acquire.  These,  believing  their  power  is  altogether  in  their 
'genius,'  are,  after  a  few  fessons  from  an  elocutionist,  disap- 
pointed at  not  becoming  themselves  at  once  masters  of  the 
art,  and,  with  restless  vanity  of  their  belief,  abandon  the  study 
for  some  new  subject  of  trial  and  failure." — Rtish. 

There  is,  amongst  the  sayings  of  Confucius,  one 
which  appHes  most  aptly  in  this  connection:  "Am- 


Advantages  of  Study.  237 

bition  is  the  spur  of  a  great  mind  to  great  action, 
but  it  impels  a  weak  one  to  absurdity,  or  sours  it 
with  discontent."  For  the  great  mind  is  one  that 
is  willing  to  work,  the  weak  one  only  expects  re- 
sults without  means.  It  is  well-known  that  the 
orator  celebrated  above  all  others,  Demosthenes, 
had,  by  nature,  neither  the  voice  nor  the  delivery 
which  he  afterwards  developed  to  so  high  a  state 
of  perfection.  His  eloquence,  which  was  so  pow- 
erful because  so  seemingly  natural,  was,  at  the  same 
time,  largely  the  result  of  laborious  cultivation. 

From  "The  Arte  of  Rhetorick, "  written  by  Sir 
Thomas  Wilson,  in  155 1,  this  quaint  and  appropri- 
ate passage  is  taken : 

"By  what  means  Eloquence  is  obtained:  First,  nedeful  it 
is  that  he  which  desireth  to  excell  in  this  gift  of  Oratorio,  and 
longeth  to  prove  an  eloquent  man,  must  naturally  have  a 
wit  and  an  aptness  thereunto;  then  must  he  to  his  boke,  and 
learne  to  be  well  stored  with  knowledge,  that  he  male  be 
able  to  minister  matter  for  all  causes  necessarie.  The  which 
when  he  hath  gotte  plentifully,  he  must  use  muche  exercise, 
both  in  writyng  and  also  in  speakyng.  For  though  ]ic  have 
a  wit  and  Icarnitig  together,  yet  shall  they  bothe  little  availc 
•without  much  practice.  What  maketh  the  Lawyer  to  have 
such  utterance?  Practice.  What  maketh  the  Preacher  to 
speak  so  roundly  ?  Practice.  Yea,  what  maketh  women  go  so 
fast  awaie  with  their  wordes  ?  Marie,  practice  I  warrant  you. 
Therefore  in  all  faculties,  diligent  practice  and  earnest  exer- 
cise arc  the  only  thynges  that  make  men  prove  excellent." 

If  there  is  much  time  and  great  application  re- 
quired to  master  the  initiatory  and  more  advanced 
processes  of  elocutionary  study,  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  there  is  an  object   to   be   gained  of 


238         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

incalculable  importance,  independent  of  laying  the 
foundation  for  an  energetic  and  finished  style  of 
public  reading  and  address,  —  and  that  is  the  effect 
such  study,  universally  pursued,  must,  in  time, 
have  upon  the  development  of  spoken  language  in 
all  its  departments  of  usage,  and  the  reflex  influ- 
ence of  such  development  on  the  general  literary 
cultivation.  In  truth,  no  study  can  be  of  greater 
importance  in  this  regard  than  the  comparatively 
neglected  one  of  oral  language.  The  proper  study 
of  a  composition  necessary  to  give  it  vocal  expres- 
sion leads  the  student,  of  necessity,  to  penetrate 
more  deeply  into  the  intent  of  the  author,  as  re- 
gards both  thought  and  feeling,  than  a  mere  silent 
perusal  ever  can  ;  for,  by  a  study  of  the  correspond- 
ing vocal  means  necessary  to  express  what  the 
written  language  embodies,  the  intelligence,  imag- 
ination, and  emotional  nature  are  quickened  and 
made  to  perceive  a  multitude  of  ideas  and  inten- 
tions that  are  lost  in  the  dumb  language  of  the 
printed  page.  This  is  well  exemplified  in  the  case 
of  the  true  actor-student,  \Vho  often  arrives,  through 
the  necessity  of  dwelling  upon  and  weighing  every 
word,  phrase,  and  sentence  as  a  condition  of  giv- 
ing it  fitting  utterance,  at  a  much  keener  realiza- 
tion of  the  real  value  of  the  author's  language,  than 
any  mere  literary  analysis  of  the  commentators 
could  alone  supply.  Indeed,  pen  can  but  imper- 
fectly record  or  tongue  describe  the  vivid  revelations 
of  meaning  which  at  times  dawn  upon  such  a  stu- 
dent, and  the  hidden  beauties  of  the  language 
which  in  consequence    unfold.      And,    indeed,    such 


Advantages  of  Study.  239 

must  be  the  result  in  all  careful  study  of  language 
for  the  purpose  of  oral  expression,  whether  for  the 
stage,  the  platform,  or  the  social  circle.  The  writ- 
ten language,  read  silently,  may  be  regarded  as 
but  a  dim  outline  of  that  which  it  is  intended  to 
express ;  infused  with  appropriate  vocal  sound,  it 
stands  out  as  an  illuminated  picture,  in  all  the  beau- 
tiful effects  of  tint  and  color,  light  and  shade.  For 
it  is  only  by  a  skillful  use  of  the  constituent  ele- 
ments of  vocal  sound  that  we  are  enabled  to  give 
full  expression  to  the  whole  world  of  thought  in 
all  its  myriad  forms,  or  to  reveal  the  inmost  life 
of  feeling  and  passion  in  all  its  tenderest  and  finest 
processes.      Legouve  says : 

"One  of  the  greatest  advantages  of  reading  aloud  is  pre- 
cisely to  bring  to  light  numbers  of  delicate  shades  of  mean- 
inj  sometimes  not  recognized  even  by  the  artist  who  placed 
them  there.  For  this  reason  this  art  of  reading  aloud  might 
become  a  powerful  instrument  of  education.  It  is  as  often 
an  excellent  professor  of  literature  as  a  great  master  of  elo- 
cution  The  best  means  of  comprehending  the  ensemble 

of  a  composition  is  to  read  it  aloud." 

All  who  have  made  the  matter  a  subject  of  study 
and  practical  application  or  experiment  have  real- 
ized this  same  mutual  dependence  of  the  one  form 
of  language  upon  the  other.      Thus  Walker : 

"Pronunciation  (delivery)  and  composition  inutually  throw 
light  on  each  other.  They  are  counterparts  of  one  operation 
of  the  human  mind;  namely,  that  of  conveying  the  ideas 
and  feelings  of  one  man  to  another  with  force,  precision, 
and  harmony." 

A  more    general    and    correct    study   of  oral    ex- 


240         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

pression  could  not  fail,  therefore,  to  contribute  to 
a  greater  appreciation  of  the  powers  and  beauties 
of  the  written  language,  and  hence  to  a  generally 
increased  love  of  the  best  in  literature. 

In  view  of  these  considerations  what  a  foremost 
rank  should  the  study  of  spoken  language  take  in 
the  education  of  a  people.  It  was  beyond  question 
the  great  perfection  to  which  the  Greeks  brought 
their  spoken  language,  with  the  attendant  develop- 
ing and  refining  influences,  that  gave  them  the  title 
to  distinction  as  a  type  of  the  highest  culture  on 
record ;  and  I  feel  assured  the  time  will  come  with 
us  when  the  condition  of  our  spoken  language  will 
be  one  of  the  strongest  indications  of  the  general 
intellectual,  aesthetic,  and  even  moral  standard  of 
our  people. 

It  must  be  remembered,  in  this  connection,  that 
all  culture  for  reading  should  not  be  alone  for  pub- 
lic or  dramatic  purposes,  nor  should  all  artistic 
speaking  imply  declamation  or  oratory.  In  other 
words,  dramatic  effect  and  declamation  in  language 
must  by  no  means  be  regarded  as  the  sole  ends 
of  elocutionary  study.  There  is  a  large  intermedi- 
ate territory  lying  between  the  flippancy,  inaccuracy, 
and  vocal  imperfection  of  every-day  conversation 
and  the  more  formal  matter  of  public  reading  or 
address,  which  comes  as  legitimately  within  the 
province  of  a  true  elocution  as  the  latter,  and  is 
of  as  much,  if  not  more,  goicral  importance.  I 
mention  this  point  particularly,  because  there  is  a 
certain  danger  that  a  desire  for  display  and  showy 
effect    alone    will    cause    vocal    culture    and    artistic 


Advantages  of  Study.  241 

reading,  as  an  elegant  social  or  domestic  accomplish- 
ment, to  be  too  largely  overlooked.  But  the  true 
art  of  elocution  is  more  catholic  in  its  scope  and 
spirit,  laying  the  broad  foundations  in  an  intelligent 
and  disciplined  study  of  spoken  language  upon 
which  any  variety  or  degree  of  effect  in  utterance 
may  be  built,  as  exigency  or  propriety  in  the  cir- 
cumstances or  conditions  may  demand.     Weiss  says : 

"Not  only  does  the  profession  of  the  singer  and  actor  re- 
quire special  eiforts  of  the  voice,  but  there  are  other  callings 
in  life,  not  immediately  devoted  to  art,  that  make  no  less  claim 
on  vocal  capacity,  and  often  we  find  those  engaged  in  such 
calling  are,  as  regards  voice,  incapacitated  to  fulfill  their  de- 
mands. To  such  the  questioTi  is  whether  it  is  possible  to 
develop  apparently  limited  vocal  capacities  to  greater  power 
or  duration  without  danger  of  injurious  reaction." 

With  regard  to  the  art  and  science  of  elocution, 
as  they  exist,  although  we  claim  much  for  both, 
we  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  as  claiming  per- 
fection for  either.  Many  are  the  works  of  human 
effort  which,  to  begin  and  follow  to  perfection  is 
rarely  granted  to  one,  or,  indeed,  many  generations ; 
so  it  is  and  must  be  with  elocution.  But  where 
perfection  in  its  highest  sense  is  not  immediately 
attainable,  we  must  rest  content  with  approximate 
results,  always  working  onward,  however,  to  a  sup- 
posable  consummation,  and  never  permitting  the 
ideal  to  be  reduced  to  a  lower  standard  in  order 
to  bring  it  within  the  reach  of  easier  attainment. 
Thus,  an  intelligent  faith  and  practiced  ability,  di- 
rected by  the  light  of  principles  already  understood, 
must  eventually,  though  gradually,  work  out  a  final 

p.  S.  L.— 21. 


242  A  Plea  for  Spoken  LaiigiLage. 

result  which  will  place  the  study  and  practice  of 
speech,  both  private  and  public,  upon  solid  foun- 
dations. 

When  the  various  nationalities  are  fused  in  the 
alembic  of  American  unity,  when  the  great  heart 
of  the  continent  shall  pulsate  with  blood  whose  vi- 
tality shall  quicken  a  race  "native  and  to  the  man- 
ner born,"  of  one  family  and  of  one  tongue,  then 
should  the  utmost  possibilities  of  the  spoken  lan- 
guage of  so  great  a  people  be  fully  developed. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  this  result  will  finally  be 
reached,  but  it  can  only  come  through  the  intelli- 
gent and  disciplined  study  of  the  uttered  forms  of 
our  speech  being  made  an  essential  feature  of  the 
national  education.  . 

"Language  being  the  great  instrument  of  elocution,  if  it  be 
not  of  a  good  sound  and  large  compass,  will  never  suffer 
that  art  to  give  much  delight,  nor  consequently  to  make  any- 
great  progress.  But  though  a  nation  should  be  in  possession 
of  an  instrument,  in  its  construction  perfectly  fitted  to  show 
all  the  force  of  harmony;  if  they  never  inquire  into  its  pow- 
ers, nor  try  what  compass  it  has;  if  they  take  no  pains  to 
put  it  in  tune;  if  they  learn  not  the  rules  of  music,  nor  are 
acquainted  with  the  notes,  they  will  not  be  in  a  much  better 
situation  than  those  who  are  confined  to  the  poorest.  Some, 
indeed,  may  learn  a  few  by  ear,  but  the  generality  will  pro- 
duce nothing  but  discord,  like  those  who  touch  the  keys  of 
an  harpsichord  at  random." — Sheridan. 

Again,  I  would  not  be  understood  to  claim  that 
the  cultivation  of  the  voice,  and  the  system  of  study 
here  proposed  can  produce  eloquence.  A  soul,  in- 
tellect, appreciation,  —  the  essential  powers  of  a 
speaker    or    reader,  —  are    gifts    of   nature    that    can 


Advantages  of  Study.  243 

not  be  created  by  any  methods  ;  but  that  they  can 
be  cultivated  and  aroused  to  life  and  action,  in 
many  cases  when  they  are  but  dimly  recognized 
by  their  possessors,  I  do  most  certainly  believe ; 
and  I  am  convinced  that  ' '  futurity  will  probably 
show  that  some  such  system  alone  can  direct,  en- 
large,  and  perfect  them." 

Educated  talent  gives  power  to  the  speaker  by 
increasing  his  confidence  and  faith  that  he  can  ac- 
complish that  which  he  has  undertaken,  with  credit 
to  himself,  and  with  advantage  to  the  cause  in 
which  he  labors. 

Finally,  and  above  all,  the  study  of  elocution 
must  be  a  labor  of  love.  Daniel  Webster,  in  draw- 
ing the  line  between  what  is  and  what  is  not  elo- 
quence, said,  most  justly,  that  the  schools  give  the 
student  —  or  should  —  the  weapon  of  the  orator, 
keen,  true,  and  capable  of  the  result  desired,  but 
that  the  strength  of  arm  is  needed  to  make  it 
trenchant,  and,  more  than  that,  the  love  is  neces- 
sary to  complete  the  force  by  which  the  blow  is 
dealt.  Although  it  is  true  that  in  our  studies  we 
must  invoke  the  powers  of  the  brain  to  define  and 
direct  the  methods  and  forms  of  practice  and  dis- 
cipline in  accordance  with  the  principles  which  un- 
derlie the  art,  still  it  is  the  love  of  the  art  which 
quickens  the  imagination  and  emotional  nature  of 
the  student  and  blends  the  warmth  and  fervor  of 
enthusiasm  with  the  colder  promptings  of  intellect- 
ual conception.  Principles  thus  mastered  and  em- 
ployed give  a  soul  to  what  would  otherwise  be  a 
cold  and  formal,    however  correct,    delivery. 


244         ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

This  love  of  what  is  beautiful  and  eloquent  in 
speech  is,  without  doubt,  inherent  in  our  race,  and 
in  this  fact  lies  the  earnest  of  the  result  we  have 
foreshadowed  for  the  art  of  spoken  language ;  for 
in  this,   as  in  all  things, — 

"It  is  the  heart  and  not  the  brain 
That  to  the  highest  doth  attain ; 
And  he  that  foUoweth  love's  behest 
Far  exceedeth  all  the  rest." 


(Ryfh-mzis. — (Bxrber's  and  Hill's  Essay. 


(^45) 


Chapter  I. 
The  Principles  of  RliyiJnnns. 

There  is  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  some  of 
our  modern  elocutionists  to  establish  a  system  of 
reading  poetry  by  printing  verse  in  the  form  of 
prose,  —  obliterating  the  usual  graphic  distinctions 
employed  to  mark  the  blank  verse  line,  the  ihymed 
couplet,    the   quatrain,    etc. 

The  apparent  object  of  this  arrangement  of  the 
text  of  poetry  is  to  divest  the  latter  of  any  ap- 
pearance of  recurring  forms  in  the  measured  lines 
or  their  terminal  syllables,  by  which  the  voice  may 
be  led,  through  the  eye,  to  that  offensive  uniformity 
or  sing-song  repetition  of  sounds,  exemplified  in 
the  child's  reading  of  nursery  rhymes. 

There  is  great  danger,  however,  of  such  an  ar- 
rangement of  the  text  inducing  the  opposite  error 
of  the  familiar  or  colloquial  style  of  reading  poetry, 
by  which  a  presentation  of  the  mere  grammatical 
sense  of  the  language  is  made  the  primary  object 
of  delivery,  and  the  emotion  or  sentiment  left  to 
take  care  of  itself 

While  I  admit  that  the  sing-song  manner  of  read- 
ing verse  is  too  prevalent,  and  much  to  be  depre- 
cated,   still    I  wish  to  call  attention  to   the  fact  that 

(247) 


248         A  Plea  foi^  Spoken  Language. 

there  is  a  better  and  surer  means  of  avoiding  this 
evil  than  that  of  knocking  our  poetic  forms  into 
pi,  as  the  printer  has  it,  and  (to  continue  the  fig- 
ure) setting  them  up  again  in  the  prosaic  forms  of 
a  daily    advertisement. 

There  is  a  golden  mean  to  be  attained,  in  the 
reading  of  poetry,  between  the  "  ti-tum-ti "  style 
and  the  familiar  manner  appropriate  to  common- 
place subjects.  This  I  believe  to  exist  in  a  correct 
understanding  and  application  of  the  important 
principle  of  rhythin7is  in  our  language,  first  demon- 
strated by  Sir  Joshua  Steele,  and  developed  by 
later  writers  (chief  amongst  whom  was  Dr.  Barber) 
into  a  practical  working  system. 

An  understanding  of  the  subject  as  explained  by 
these  writers  will  show  the  student  that,  while 
rhythm  is  an  ornament  to  oral  language,  it  is  also 
an  essential,  based  upon  a  law  which  lies  deep  in 
the  nature  of  the  vocal  organism,  and  which  governs 
its  correct  and  healthful  action  in  utterance.  It  will 
also  show  him  that  the  correct  observance  of  a 
rhythmic  movement  does  not  imply  that  the  voice 
shall  strictly  follow  the  mere  mechanism  of  verse, 
although  necessarily  marking  the  latter  sufficiently 
to  preserve  the  effect  arising  from  poetic  num- 
bers. 

Moreover,  he  will  learn  that  syllabic  measure,  or 
metrical  progression  in  speech,  is  not  confined  to 
verse  alone,  but  exists  as  well  in  all  well  constructed 
prose. 

It  may  be  said  that,  in  a  certain  sense,  there  is 
prose  in  poetry  and  poetry  in  prose,   and   the   true 


The  Principles  of  Rhythinus.  249 

art  of  the  reader  will  enable  him  to  so  deal  with 
both  as  to  render  poetry  independent  of  the  mere 
tyranny  of  meter,  without  robbing  it  positively  of 
measured  forms,  and  to  give  to  prose  a  proper  de- 
gree of  rhythmic  latitude. 

The  end  proposed,  by  a  happy  combination  of 
the  art  of  the  reader  and  the  poet,  is  not  only  to 
reach  the  understanding,  but  to  appeal  beyond  to 
the  soul  through  the  fancy  and  the  imagination. 

The  ear  that  is  not  educated  to  an  appreciation 
of  measured  sounds  in  their  relations  to  the  utter- 
ance of  the  language  of  poetic  fervor  or  exaltation, 
will  never  enable  the  reader  to  attain  to  this  con- 
summate power. 

If,  then,  in  the  course  of  study  by  which  we  ed- 
ucate our  youth  to  an  effective  exercise  of  their 
vocal  powers,  the  principles  of  meter  and  rhythm 
be  ignored,  not  only  must  the  organs  of  voice 
suffer  in  consequence,  but  the  emotional  and  imag- 
inative nature  will  be  deprived  of  one  of  its  most 
effective  means  of  expression  in  language. 

Desiring  to  give  place  in  this  volume  to  Dr. 
Barber's  valuable  essay  on  rhythmus,  and  some 
scored  examples  to  illustrate  the  principles  of  meas- 
ure in  speech,  I  offer  the  following  outline,  con- 
taining briefly  the  substance  of  his  explanation  of 
the  subject,  which  will  be  necessary  to  the  reader 
to  apprehend  the  value  and  application  of  the  es- 
say and  examples  in  question. 

All  oral  language,  whether  consisting  of  prose  or 
poetry,  if  correctly  delivered,  is  divided  into  met- 
rical  cadences    or   measures,   each  of  which, .  as    in 


250         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

music,  ought  to  occupy  the  same  length  of  time  in 
the  utterance. 

A  cadence,  or  measure  in  speech,  consists  of  a 
heavy  or  accented  portion  of  sound,  followed  by 
one  or  more  light  or  unaccented  portions. 

This  succession  of  heavy  and  light,  or  of  accented 
and  unaccented  sounds,  is  dependent  upon  a  law 
belonging  to  the  primary  organ  of  voice,  by  which 
that  organ  is  inevitably  subjected  to  the  alternate 
action  and  reaction  of  pulsation  and  remission,  in 
sympathy  with  the  lungs  and  heart. 

A  measure  or  cadence,  then,  may  be  said  to  have 
two  elementary  portions,  —  a  heavy  and  a  light. 
Steele  designated  these  portions  of  the  cadence  by 
the  term  poise,  —  heavy  poise  and  light  poise,  or 
thesis  and  arsis.  By  heavy  poise  was  meant  that 
property  of  a  syllable  which  has  acquired  for  it 
the  term  accented,  and  by  light  poise,  that  which, 
as  contradistinguished  from  the  other,  has  been 
called  unaccented.  The  terms  accented  and  unac- 
cented, for  the  sake  of  simplifying  the  treatment 
of  the  subject,  will  be  substituted,  therefore,  for 
the  term  poise ;  and  for  the  same  reason  the  word 
measure  will  be  used  in  preference  to  cadence.* 

The  accented  portion  of  a  measure  is  marked  to 
the  eye  thus  A.   and  the  unaccented  thus  .  • . 

The  word  temper  exhibits  a  perfect  measure. 


*  This  is  not  only  to  simplify  terms  by  using  but  one  term  for 
the  same  thing,  but  to  avoid  the  use  of  cadence  in  more  than 
one  sense,  as  this  term  will  be  employed  hereafter  exclusively  to 
designate  the  melodic  close  of  a  sentence. 


The  Principles  of  RJiythimis.  251 

The  difference  between  a  perfect  nicasiwe  and  a 
perfect  metrical  foot,   consists  in  the  following: 

A  metrical  foot  is  composed  of  one  syllable,  or 
any  number  of  syllables,  not  exceeding  five,  occu- 
pying the  duration  of  a  measure. 

Thus  the  word  temper  exhibits  a  perfect  metrical 

A      •■• 

foot,  the  accented  portion  of  the  measure  being  on 

the  first  syllable,  and  the  unaccented  on  the  second. 

In  the  word  temperance,  we  have  a  metrical  foot 

A      .-.      .■• 

of  three  syllables,  occupying  the  same  measure  of 
time  as  the  preceding,  the  unaccented  portion  of 
the  measure  being  divided  into  two  short  syllables. 
The  light  or  unaccented  portion  of  the  measure  may 
be  similarly  broken  up  or  articulated  into  three  and 
even  four  syllables  in  rapid  utterance ;  as,  spir-it-u-al, 
spir-it-u-al-ly,    beau-ti-ful-ly.  ^   • '•  •  •  •'• 

A      .-.  •••  .-.  •••  A       •••    •■•     ••• 

In  such  cases  the  metrical  foot  is  different  in 
form,   but  the  measure  remains  the  same. 

Two  heavy  or  accented  soimds  caji  never  be  uttered 
in  immediate  succession,  like  the  heavy  and  the  light 
sounds,  —  for  the  same  reason  that  the  hand,  having 
closed  by  a  contraction  of  the  muscles,  can  not  be 
closed  again  until  it  has  been  intermediately  opened. 
Thus  the  word  baker  may  be  uttered  with  one  effort 
of  the  voice,  the  first  syllable  being  produced  by 
the  pulsative,  and  the  second  by  the  remiss,  action 
of  the  larynx,  alternating  with  each  other  as  ac- 
cented and  unaccented  sounds. 

But  the  words  bake,  bake,  can  not  be  uttered  in 
immediate    succession.       Each    word    being-   on    the 


252  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

pulsative,  there  will  be  a  perceptible  hiatus  or  pause 
between  them,  for  if  the  light  portion  of  a  measure 
does  not  follow  the  pulsative  effort  of  the  larynx, 
the  remission  must  take  place  in  pause  or  silence. 
In  this  case  the  time  of  such  remission  will  meas- 
ure the  same  as  that  which  would  be  occupied  in 
the  utterance  of  the  light  part  of  the  measure. 
Thus : 

"My     hopes,     fears,    joys,     pains,    all     centre     in     you," 

A  •••  A         .-.       A       .■•  A         .■•       A  .-.       A      .  .  •■•  A 

will  occupy  exactly  the  same  time  in  the  utterance 
as 

"My    hopes  and  fears   and  joys  and  pains        all     centre 

A  •••  A  •■■  A  .-.  A  .•.         A     .-.         A     .-. 

in     you." 

A 

Heavy  and  light  sounds  in  immediate  succession 
constitute  the  base  of  such  words  as 

fan-cy,     pict-ure,     tern -per,     etc.; 

A  .-.  A  •••  A 

light  and  heavy  sounds,    such  words  as 
ab  -  hor,     de  -  test,     a  -  void,     etc. 

A  .-.  A  .-.  A 

Monosyllables  constituting  nouns  and  verbs,  not 
merely  auxiliary,  are  almost  always  affected  to  the 
heavy  or  accented  function  of  the  voice,  and  parti- 
cles to  the  light  or  unaccented,  —  thus: 

Man,     boy,     beast,     bid,     break,     hill;         of,       to,       he, 

A         .-.        A       .•.  A  .-.        A       .-.  A  .-.      A         .-.        A   .-.  A  .•.  A     .-. 

it,         from. 

A  .-.  A 

Certain  syllables  are  affected,  either  to  the  ac- 
cented or  unaccented    portion  of   the    measure,   ac- 


TJic  Principles  of  RJiytJuims.  253 

cording  to  the  syllables  with  which  they  are  asso- 
ciated, or  according  to  their  relative  importance  in 
the  sentence, —  thus: 

let,  let;     will,  will;     can,  can. 

A         •■•  A  .'.  A 

This  is  the  case  of  all  auxiliaries,  expletives,  and 
monosyllables  of  intermediate  importance : 

Let      him     go       where'er      he      will,       man     shall      still 

A  .-.  A  •••  A  .-.  A     •••  A  •••  A 

be      man. 
A    .-. 

A  bar  (  |  )  is  a  technical  invention  used  to 
separate  the  successive  measures  of  speech  to  the 
eye,  and  is  here  employed  as  in  music,  the  time 
of  all  the  bars  being  equal. 

An  imperfect  metrical  foot  is  one  in  which  either 
the  accented  or  the  unaccented  portion  of  the  meas- 
ure is  wanting.  In  such  cases  the  time  of  the  bar 
is  completed  by  a  corresponding  rest  or  pause, 
marked  thus  7>   as  in  the  line  following: 

'Twas  at  the  |  roy-al  |  feast  |  •y  for  |  Pcr-sia  |  won.*  | 

A  .-.         .-.  A  •■•  A         •••     A  •••  A  .-.  A      .-. 

Here  "feast"  forms  an  imperfect  foot  represent- 
ing only  the  accented  portion  of  the  measure  ;  and 
"for,"  an  imperfect  measure  in  which  this  order 
is  reversed. 

A  single  syllable  may  constitute  an  entire  meas- 
ure if  it  be  extended  in  time,  in  which  case  the 
pulsative  and  remiss  action  takes  place  on  its  first 
and  latter  part,  the  first  part  being  perceptibly 
heavier,   and  the  latter  part  lighter.     Syllables  such 

as 

hail,         star,        joy, 


2  54         ^   Plea  for  Spoken   Langiiage. 

admit  of   a  pulsation  and  remission   as    palpably  as 
though  they  consisted  of  two  syllables. 

Such  syllables  may  be  pronounced  so  as  to  con- 
stitute a  part  or  a  full  measure,  at  the  option  of 
the  speaker.  In  the  latter  case,  the  syllable  com- 
prises an  emphatic  foot, — thus: 

Hail,  I  ho  -ly  I  Light!    •?  | 

A  measure  may  be  in  common  or  triple  time, 
according  to  the  character  of  the  foot. 

A  metrical  foot  of  two  syllables  constitutes  a 
measure  of  common  time ;  as, 

Nat-ure's  |  change-ful  |  form.  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  A 

A  measure  of  triple  time  is  composed  of  three 
syllables : 

The  I  mur-mur-ing  |  stream-let  winds  | 

A  •••        •■•  A 

Clear  thro'   the   |  vale. 

A  .-.  •■•  A     .-. 

When  either  of  these  feet  predominate  in  verse 
it  is  said  to  be  in  common  or  triple  time. 

These  are  considered  the  most  perfect  feet.  Next 
comes  the  emphatic  foot  or  measure  of  a  single 
syllable,   already  described. 

The  third  form  is  the  foot  of  four  syllables,  con- 
stituting the  accelerated  measure,  the  syllables  of 
which  are  uttered  with  more  than  ordinary  quick- 
ness, or,  more  technically,  with  very  short  quantity ; 
for  since  every  bar  occupies  the  same  space,  it  must 
be  evident  that  the  pronunciation  must  be  acceler- 
ated according  to  the  number  of  syllables. 

The  following  are  examples  of  this  kind  of  met- 
rical foot: 


The  Principles  of  RJiytJinnis.  255 

Cit-i-zens  of  |  Lon-don.  | 

To  I  mo-men-ta-ry  |  con-scious-ness  a-  |  woke. 

A  ••  .-.        ■.  A  .-.  .-.         .-.  A 

He  had  a  |  fever  |  when  he  was  in  |  Spain. 

A 

The  foot  of  five  syllables  is  called  a  base  foot, 
and  is  only  employed  in  the  measures  of  familiar 
prose ;  and  even  there  it  exists  rather  as  a  license 
of  carelessness  in  the  speaker,  as  in  the  following : 

If  the  I  soul  I  •?   be   happily  dis-  |  posed  •y  |  every    thing 

be -comes  |  ca-pa-ble  of  af-  |  ford-ing  en-ter-  |  tain-ment.  | 

Such  a  measure  necessitates  extreme  acceleration 
or  rapidity  in  its  utterance,  and  would,  therefore, 
in  a  more  dignified  reading,  be  broken  up  into 
two  measures,  —  thus: 

I  Capable  |  •y  of  af  |  fording.  | 

A     .••      .-.  .-.       .-.  A 

We  never  find  in  the  verse  of  Shakespeare  or 
Milton  a  measure  of  more  than  four  syllables. 

From  the  preceding  it  will  be  seen  that  the 
quantities  perpetually  vary  in  speech,  as  in  music, — 
that  is,  that  while  each  entire  bar  in  a  succession 
measures  the  same  in  time,  the  quotional  parts  of 
these  bars  will  constantly  vary  as  to  time. 

In  a  succession  of  measures,  beside  the  slight 
pauses  arising  from  the  rests  of  the  imperfect  meas- 
ure, the  time  of  a  whole  bar,  or  of  several  bars, 
may  pass  in  silence  when  the  longer  pauses  of 
discourse  require  such  continued  suspension  of  the 
voice.  Such  pauses  separate  language  into  clausular 
divisions. 


256  A  Plea  fo7^  Spoken  Language. 

The  ''rests''  of  imperfect  measures,  together 
with  the  measures  of  complete  silence,  permit  a 
constant  supply  of  breath  to  the  speaker  without 
any  interference  with  the  natural  flow  of  continued 
utterance. 

The  time  or  rate  of  utterance  may  be  either 
rapid  or  slow,  but  in  all  cases  it  is  susceptible  of 
measured  progressions  in  accordance  with  the  prin- 
ciples I  have  endeavored  to  explain. 

The  rhythmus  of  speech  consists  in  an  arrange- 
ment of  measures  or  metrical  feet  in  clauses  more 
or  less  distinguishable  by  the  ear,  and  of  more  or 
■  less  obvious  proportion  in  their  periods  and  re- 
sponses. 

If  a  discourse  or  paragraph  were  composed  or 
delivered  without  such  clausular  divisions  and  re- 
sponses, though  it  were  ever  so  perfect  in  its 
metre,   it  would  have  no  rhytJumis. 

Verse  is  composed  of  a  regular  succession  of 
metrical  feet  or  similarly  constructed  measures,  so 
divided  by  pauses  into  proportioned  parts  or  clauses, 
as  to  present,  at  certain  intervals,  sensible  responses 
to  the  ear. 

Prose  is  composed  of  all  sorts  of  measures,  ar- 
ranged without  attention  to  obvious  rule,  and  di- 
vided into  clausular  divisions  that  have  no  obvious 
proportion,  and  present  no  responses  to  the  ear  at 
any  determined  intervals. 

The  broad  distinction,  then,  between  prose  and 
verse  consists  in  the  more  regular  sequence  of  ac- 
cent, quantity,  and  pause  in  the  latter  than  in  the 
former. 


TJie  Principles  of  RhythiuiLS.  257 

But  in  their  respective  attempts  at  rhythmic  ex- 
cellence, they  seem  to  approach  each  other  in  a 
compromise  which  adds  to  the  regularity  of  one  and 
diminishes  that  of  the  other.  Thus  the  best  poetic 
rhythmus  is  that  which  admits  occasional  deviations 
from  the  current  of  similar  metrical  successions,  so 
ordered  that  they  may  not  continue  long-  enough  to 
destroy  the  general  character  of  regularity,  whilst 
the  most  skillfully  arranged  prose  is  constantly 
showing  the  beginning  of  a  regular  metrical  ar- 
rangement, which  loses  itself  in  a  new  series  of 
measures  before  the  ear  has  time  to  become  im- 
pressed with  any  determinate  order. 

The  beauty  of  poetry,  then,  may  be  said  to  con- 
sist in  such  a  nice  adjustment  of  the  several  kinds 
of  measures  and  the  various  rests  or  pauses,  as 
will  produce  an  agreeable  rhythmus  without  in- 
terfering with  the  regular  mechanism  of  the  verse. 

The  following  lines  will  afford  instances  of  agree- 
able rhythmus  in  use : 

Anns    and  the  |  man,  I  |  sing  |  •f   •/  |  who  •y  |  forced   by  | 

A  .-.  •■■  A         .-.         A  •■■         A      •■.  A         •■.  A 

fate.  I 

A     .-. 

Hail,  I  holy  |  Light!  ^  \  offspring  of  |  heaven  |  first  |  born.  | 

A".'.  A     .-.  A  •■■  A  .-.  .  A  .•■  A   .  A     .'. 

Rocks,  "y  I  caves,  ^  \  lakes,  •?  |  fens,  •*  |  bogs,  "f  |  dens,  and 

A         .•.'  A  .-.  A  .-.  A  .■■    '  A  ■■•  A 

I  shades  of  |  death.  ] 

A  .-.  A       ■• 

•T  A  I  u-ni-verse  of  |  death  |  ^  which  |  God  by  |  curse    | 

A       .••  A     ■.         •■■  ■••  A     .'.  A  ■  A  .■•  A       ■. 

•y  Cre  I  ated  |  evil,  |  •f  for  |  evil  |  only  |  good  ^  \ 

A  •••  A   .•■  A      •  A     .  ■  A     •  A        ■•  A  •. 

P.    S.    L.-22. 


258         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

From  a  mistaken  idea  as  to  the  nature  of  quan- 
tity in  our  language,  but  little  attention  has,  as  yet, 
been  paid,  in  the  study  of  reading,  to  the  rhythm 
of  prose ;  yet  numberless  beautiful  passages  from 
the  writings  of  our  best  authors  attest  their  appre- 
ciation of  the  effects  of  this  symmetrical  arrange- 
ment of  time,  accent,  and  pause.  The  following 
passage  from  Dickens,  whose  writings  abound  in 
similar  instances,  will  furnish  an  example  of  the 
charm  of  rhythmic  prose : 

Dear,  |  gentle,  |  patient,  |  noble  |  Nell  |  ^  was  |  dead.  \*^  ^,\ 

A     .■•  A      ■■  A       .■•  A     .■•  A".-.       A  ■■.  A     -•.  A     -•. 

•y  Her  1  little  |  bird,  |  *^  a  |  poor  •?  |  slight  •?  |  thing,  |  •^  the  | 
pressure  of  a  |  finger  would  have  |  crushed,^  |  •^  was  |  stirring] 

A  •■•  .-.     •••  A     .-.  .-.  ••  A  .-.  A  .••  A       .-. 

nimbly  1  •?   in  its  |  cage,  |  ^  and   the  |  strong  |  heart  |  *^  of 
its  I  child- 1  mistress  |  •?  was  (  still  |  •^  and  |  motionless  |  •?  for  | 

A     .-.  A         .-.  A         ■■•  A     •••       A       ■••  A         .-.       .-.         A       .-. 

ever.  | 
A   ••. 

Language,  ever  obedient  to  those  subtle  laws  by 
which  the  mind  is  directed  in  its  tendencies,  and 
made,  as  it  were,  involuntarily  to  choose  certain 
modes  of  giving  expression  to  its  emotions,  be- 
comes naturally  rhythmical  in  proportion  to  the 
dignity  and  elevation  of  the  thoughts  which  seek 
utterance. 

The  ancients,  with  whom  speech  was  an  esthetic 
art,  laid  much  stress  upon  the  beauty  and  dignity 
of  rhythm  in  language,  and  they  considered  that 
there  could  be  no  grace  or  excellence  of  style  with- 
out a  well  ordered  arrangement  of  accentual  force, 
quantity,    and    pause.       Quintilian    wrote    copiously 


The  Principles  of  RhytJiums.  259 

on  the  subject ;  so  did  Dionysius  of  Halicarr.assus. 
The  latter  speaks  of  rhythmus  as  ' '  supporting  or 
sustaining-  the  voice;"  which  it  does  by  preserving 
it  from  that  careless  and  imperfect  utterance  in 
which  the  words  stumble  and  run  against  each  other, 
as  it  were,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  arrest  the  even 
step  of  language,  and  thwart  the  expectation  of 
both  the  ear  and  the  mind. 

An  important  fact  to  be  pointed  out  in  reading 
according  to  the  division  of  language  by  musical 
time,  as  here  explained,  is  that,  in  order  to  produce 
harmonious  succession,  tJic  voice  must  ahvays  move 
perceptibly  from  the  accented  or  heavy  to  the  light  or 
unaccented  syllable,  and  never  from  the  light  to  the 
heavy.  Such  a  progress  is  essential  to  the  facility, 
force,  and  harmony  of  delivery  in  natural,  contin- 
ued utterance.  If,  therefore,  a  line  begin,  as 
many  of  our  lines  do,  both  in  poetry  and  prose, 
with  a  light  or  unaccented  sound,  the  voice  must 
sound  lightly  the  first  syllable,  and  then  the  pro- 
gress through  the  line  or  passage  is  from  heavy  to 
light.  The  imperfect  bar  would  be  marked  by  a 
rest ;  the  same  rule  applies  to  the  musical  bar. 
Such  a  passage  would  begin  with  an  imperfect  foot, 
as  in  the  following : 

^  Ye  I  airy  |  sprites  who  |  oft  as  |  fancy  |  calls. 

A      .'.  A     .-.  A  .-.  A       •■•  A     .-.  A       .-. 

The  physical  cause  of  this  alternation  of  accented 
and  uilaccented  sounds  in  language  may  be  demon- 
strated not  only  by  anatomy,  but  by  the  united 
senses  of  vision  and  touch  in  examining  the  action 
of  the  living  throat  in  the  act  of  energetic  speaking. 


2  6o         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Langiiage. 

It  is  this  principle,  and  not  the  mere  arrangement 
of  long  and  short  syllables,  which  constitutes  the 
natural  basis  of  rhythmus  in  our  language ;  but  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  perfection  of  that 
rhythmus  must  depend  upon  the  nice  adaptation 
of  quantities  to  fill  out  properly  the  physical  alter- 
nation, and  preserve  a  due  proportion  in  the  meas- 
ures and  clauses. 

If  the  enunciated  sounds  of  continued  speech, 
together  with  its  rests  and  pauses,  are  subjected  to 
musical  time,  as  here  explained,  the  respiration  will 
never  become  disturbed  even  by  the  most  energetic 
speaking ;  but  in  proportion  as  speech  is  not  accu- 
rately divided  by  syllabic  measures,  will  the  respi- 
ration become  laborious,  and  the  physical  powers 
be  so  far  ineffectuall}'  applied. 

The  division  of  language,  moreover,  by  musical 
time,  is  not  only  essential  to  easy,  correct,  and  forci- 
bly continued  utterance,  but  the  law  of  relation  is 
carried  still  farther,  for  it  will  be  found  that  the 
grammatical  sense  of  the  language  always  corre- 
sponds with  the  natural  division  .of  its  parts  into 
accentual  measures. 


Chapter  II. 
Essay  on  Rhytlimiis.    By  Dr.  Ba/'bcr,   1823. 

The  general  neglect  of  the  science  of  rhythmus 
has  been  peculiarly  hostile  to  the  improvement  of 
our  national  elocution. 

It  is  a  question  whether  the  principles  upon 
which  the  rhythmus  of  our  language  depends  have 
been  even  ascertained  by  grammarians  and  professed 
instructors.  I  think  they  have  not.  Indeed,  with 
the  exception  of  the  works  of  Joshua  Steele,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Odell,  and  Professor  Thelwell,  I  know 
of  no  others  who  throw  light  upon  the  nature  and 
character  of  a  ''cadence,"  or  an  English  metrical 
foot. 

I  have  been  greatly  indebted  to  an  unpublished 
lecture  by  the  last-named  gentleman  for  important 
information  in  this  preliminary  essay.  With  the 
exception  of  what  I  have  learned  from  these  sources, 
I  have  met  with  nothing  on  the  subject  of  the  de- 
livery of  our  language  which  has  not  appeared  to 
me  more  or  less  defective  in  theory. 

An  ignorance  of  certain  physical  facts  has  led 
many  Writers  on  rhythmus  to  ascribe  to  mere  elec- 
tion and  voluntary  taste  what   has  its  origin   in  the 

indispensable  attributes  of  organic  action. 

(261) 


262         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Langttage. 

It  was  this  ignorance  which  prevented  Mr.  Roe 
[a  contemporary  writer]  from  perceiving  the  neces- 
sity of  the  mensuration  of  pauses ;  and  which  led 
him  to  deny  that  the  crotchet  and  quaver  rests  con- 
stitute a  part  of  the  elocutionary  as  well  as  of  the 
musical  bar.  He  has,  accordingly,  amused  the  eye 
with  cadences  of  a  length  which  no  human  organs 
can  utter,  to  say  nothing  of  the  confusion  and  de- 
formity which  his  theory  is  calculated,  in  other  re- 
spects, to  introduce  into  the  pronunciation  of  En- 
glish verse.  It  is  only  by  a  consideration  of  the 
necessary  pulsation  in  tlie  fi7'st  place,  and  of  the 
equally  necessary  alternate  remission  in  the  second, 
of  the  primary  organ  of  voice,  that  we  can  ascer- 
tain what  constitutes  a  cadence,  or  one  simple 
measure,    and    where    such    simple  measure  begins. 

But  the  true  nature  of  a  cadence  being  once  un- 
derstood, we  can  not  fail  to  apprehend  the  metrical 
proportion  of  our  language ;  nor  can  we  fail  to  per- 
ceive how  it  happens  that  persons  who  speak  with 
harmony  and  facility,  speak  in  metrical  cadences. 
If  our  conception  of  a  metrical  foot  be  accurate, 
we  shall  be  able  to  detect,  moreover,  the  fallacy 
into  which  those  have  fallen  who  have  hitherto  con- 
founded poise  (or  heavy  and  light)  with  quantity ;  or, 
in  other  words,  the  arbitrary  adjustment  of  long 
and  short  syllables,  in  Latin  scanning,  with  the  in- 
evitable recurrence  of  thesis  and  arsis.  No  person 
can  read  Latin  intelligibly  if  he  reads  as  he  has 
been  taught  to  scan;  but,  by  means  of  a  scoring 
which  accurately  marks  the  periodical  recurrence 
of  thesis  and  arsis,  or  of  heavy  and  light  syllables, 


Barber's  Essay  on  RJiytJimus.  263 

as  dependent  on  the  action  and  reaction  of  the  or- 
gan of  voice,  not  only  may  every  individual  read 
as  he  scans,  but,  as  the  scoring  will  be  found  in- 
variably to  ascertain  the  grammatical  sense,  a  devi- 
ation in  actual  delivery  from  the  rule  ascertained 
by  that  scoring  will  be  found,  in  the  precise  degree 
of  such  deviation,  to  involve  the  trifold  sacrifice 
of  the  sense,  the  harmony,  and  the  undisturbed 
tenor  of  the  respiration.  If  we  bear  in  mind  the 
precise  meaning  of  heavy  and  light  poise  (or  ac- 
cented and  unaccented  sounds)  as  distinguished  from 
all  other  attrilnites  of  speech,  we  shall  find  no  diffi- 
culty in  detecting  the  difference  between  the  com- 
mencement of  a  line,  or  of  a  passage,  and  the 
commencement  of  a  foot ;  we  shall  perceive  that 
the  speaker  or  the  poet,  equally  with  the  musician, 
may  commence  with  an  initial  or  imperfect  bar ;  and 
we  shall  be  successful  in  our  attempts  to  divide 
into  their  primitive  metrical  parts  such  passages  as 
are  so  commenced. 

Nothing  is  at  present  more  fully  ascertained  than 
the  mathematical  proportion  of  the  bars  of  music, — 
the  general  agreement  of  integral  bars  (in  a  given 
time  or  passage)  amidst  the  boundless  varieties  of 
parts  and  fractions  of  which  those  integers  are  com- 
posed. But  let  us  suppose  that  one  of  the  fine 
passages  from  Handel  or  from  Haydn  were  pre- 
sented to  us,  with  every  part  of  its  notation  com- 
plete except  the  division  into  bars,  and  that  we 
were  to  proceed  (taking  numbers,  instead  of  propor- 
tions, as  the  basis  of  our  metrical  divisions)  to  write 
it    into    score,    and    were,    unfortunately,    to-  begin 


264  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

from  an  improper  note,  —  what  would,  in  that  case, 
become  of  the  proportion  of  the  bars,  as  far  as  re- 
lated to  their  impression  upon  the  eye?  And  yet, 
how  easy  would  it  be  to  amuse  a  person  ignorant 
of  the  science  of  sounds,  with  plausible  declama- 
tion upon  the  want  of  time  and  measure  in  the 
music  of  Handel  and  Haydn ! 

These  observations  strictly  apply  to  those  persons 
who  have  denied  a  measure  to  English  speech,  and 
who  have  refined,  with  great  apparent  profundity, 
on  the  rhythmus  and  structure  of  our  language. 
No  wonder  it  is,  that,  under  such  circumstances, 
the  six  proportioned  but  varied  cadences  that  con- 
stitute (in  its  simplest  form)  an  English  heroic  line, 
should  -have  been  reduced,  by  false  theory,  into 
five  disproportioned  and  incongruous  feet ;  that  the 
measure  of  harmonious  prose  should  have  been 
peremptorily  denied,  and  that  even  the  magnificent, 
the  infinitely  diversified,  but  mathematically  perfect, 
measure  of  the  immortal  Milton  (who  never  devi- 
ates into  a  discord  or  neglects  a  quantity  but  when 
he  has  some  emotion  to  represent  which  would  be 
marred  by  the  incongruity  of  harmonic  smoothness) 
should  have  been  theorized  into  chaotic  disorder 
and  dissonance  by  secluded  critics  who  have  never 
learned  to  scan  his  verse  with  their  eajs,  nor  to 
utter  it  with  their  oral  organs. 

But  the  misfortune  as  regards  the  practical  ends 
of  delivery  is,  that  false  theory  has  led  to  bad  hab- 
its of  utterance.  It  is  as  practicable  (however  op- 
posed to  nature  and  instinct)  to  present  inv^erted 
cadences  or  measures  to  the  ear  as  to  the  eve ;  that 


Barber's  Essay  on  Rhythnius.  265 

is,  measures  in  wiiich  the  voice  proceeds  from  light 
to  heavy,  instead  of  in  the  natural  order  from  heavy 
to  light.  This  error  constitutes  an  impropriety  of 
utterance  which  offends  more  frequently  than  any 
other  the  ear  of  taste  and  sensibihty,  in  the  harsh 
and  labored  elocution  of  artificial  speakers.  Its 
effects  are  perceptible  to  all  hearers.  The  detec- 
tion of  its  cause  lies  deep  in  the  first  principles  of 
the  science  of  speech. 

The  indication  of  a  division  or  mode  of  progress 
from  heavy  to  light,  from  the  accented  to  the  iinac- 
centcd  syllables,  instead  of  the  reverse  of  this,  is  in 
the  natural  organic  action  of  the  speaker.  Its  re- 
sult is  force  and  harmony.  This  instinctive  progress 
from  heavy  to  light,  as  distinguishable  from  that  of 
from  light  to  heavy,  it  is  most  essential  to  compre- 
hend and  feel.  The  metrical  principle,  manifested 
by  the  first  of  these  movements,  applies,  not  only 
to  human  speech,  but  to  the  vocal  efforts,  however 
limited  and  imperfect,   of  all  the  tribes  of  voice.* 

I  am  aware  that  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  ren- 
der the  subject  fully  comprehensible  without  the 
aid  of  patient  and  repeated  oral  demonstration, 
or  to  put  persons  in  possession  of  a  practical  rule 
of  scoring  by  which  those  axioms  may  be  ha- 
bitually applied  —  first  in  the  reading  lesson,  and 
afterwards  in  spontaneous  delivery.  By  means  of 
such  a  scoring,  however,  they  are  susceptible  both 
of   easy    comprehension   and    application ;    and,    by 


*-With  the   exception  of  the  duck,   which    has  no  alternation, 
but  measures  its  cadences  by  heavy  poise  alone,  and  the  Guinea 
hen,   which  marks  its  note  from  lusht  to  heavy. 
P.  S.  L.— 23. 


2  66         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

an  attention  to  them,  it  will  be  found  that  the 
rhythmus  of  our  language  is  one  of  rigid  measure, 
and  that  its  utterance,  conformably  to  such  meas- 
ure, is  compatible  with  a  forcible  and  harmonious 
delivery ;  that,  above  all,  such  a  delivery  will  never 
be  found  to  necessitate  any  disturbance  to  respira- 
tion. 

The  truth  of  the  foregoing  remarks  may  be  eas- 
ily demonstrated.  The  author  could  safely  engage  to 
take  any  single  period,  smoothly  and  harmoniously 
uttered  in  spontaneous  speech,  to  repeat  it  in  the 
tones  of  the  speaker,  to  beat  time  to  it  with  com- 
plete regularity  as  he  repeated  it,  and  then  to 
write  it  out  into  score,  with  all  the  divisions  of  its 
respective  cadences ;  and  to  demonstrate  the  quan- 
tities of  every  foot  and  the  measure  of  every  pause 
by  which  those  cadences  were  occupied. 

Might  he  be  permitted  to  add  that  an  adherence, 
in  spontaneous  delivery  and  in  reading,  to  the 
scoring  which  would  in  such  case  be  instituted,  is 
the  only  secret  by  which  he  has  been  enabled  to 
read  and  speak  with  emphasis  many  hours  every 
day,  without  injury  to  lungs  highly  susceptible, 
and  a  constitution  by  no  means  vigorous. 

He  ventures,  moreover,  to  maintain  that  where 
there  is  no  measure  there  can  be  neither  smooth- 
ness nor  harmony ;  for  harmony  in  speech  is  the 
combined  effect  of  measure,  melody,  and  euphony. 
But  where  there  is  neither  smoothness  nor  harmony 
there  is  like  to  be  perpetual  hesitation  and  frequent 
impediment.  Common  as  these  blemishes  are,  there 
remain,  however,  a  sufficient  number  of  good  speak- 


Barber' s  Essay  on  RhytJinuis.  267 

ers  of  English  to  demonstrate  that  ckittering  and 
hesitation  are  rather  the  results  of  bad  habits  of 
delivery,   than  of  necessities  in  the  language. 

Let  it  be  once  admitted  that  our  language  is 
a  language  susceptible  of  musical  admeasurement 
(and  the  examples  by  which  these  elements  are  il- 
lustrated are  practical  exhibitions  of  such  admeas- 
urement), and  the  student  may  always  be  directed 
to  read  as  he  scans  and  scores. 

The  learner,  while  the  system  is  yet  new  to  him, 
will  necessarily  be  more  deliberate  and  formal  than 
when  a  due  comprehension  of  the  metrical  princi- 
ple is  attained,  and  the  habits  of  delivery  incident 
to  it  are  fully  formed.  He  will  have  to  ascend,  in 
due  gradation,  from  the  mere  abstract  to  the  rhe- 
torical rhythmus ;  that  is  to  say,  from  that  skeleton 
rhythmus  which  recognizes  only  the  mere  inherent 
qualities  of  the  elements  and  syllables  arranged,  to 
that  vital  and  more  authentic  rliythmns  which  trsidts 
from  the  mingled  considerations  of  sentiment,  pause, 
and  emphasis,  and  which  assigns  to  each  of  these  its 
just  proportions  of  measured  quantity.  But  the  latter 
rhythmus,  differing  from  the  former  only  in  its  per- 
fection and  expressive  beauty,  is  based  on  the  same 
simple  and  original  principle  of  measure,  founded 
on  the  alternate,  voluntary  action  and  re-action  of 
the  glottis ;  and  the  pupil  is  not  only  to  read  his 
Milton  and  his  Shakespeare  as  he  would  scan  them, 
but  is  to  speak  as  he  would  scan,  whether  address- 
ing an  assembh'  or  unbending  in  easy  pleasantry  at 
the  tea-table.  Conversational  rhythmus  is,  indeed, 
very  different  in   effect  from    the    rhythmus  of  ora- 


268         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

tory ;  but  it  is  rhythmus  still,  and  rhythmus  de- 
pendent upon  the  metrical  proportions  of  cadences 
and  feet.  Its  proportions  are  more  difficult  of  de- 
tection than  those  of  the  more  stately  kind ;  the 
proportions  of  all  prose,  more  difficult  than  those 
of  verse ;  and  the  proportions  of  blank  verse  more 
difficult,  because  more  diversified,  than  those  of 
our  heroic  couplet.  But  the  grace  of  all  utterance 
must  nevertheless  depend  upon  proportion.  There- 
fore, the  student,  the  orator,  or  the  man  of  the 
world,  who  would  improve  —  the  first,  the  impres- 
siveness  of  his  instruction  ;  the  second,  the  energy 
of  his  declamation ;  and  the  third,  the  grace  and 
harmony  of  his  conversation,  —  will  do  wisely  in  cul- 
tivating his  metrical  perception  as  applicable  to  all 
spoken  language.  But  he  who  would  surmount  an 
impediment  of  speech,  natural  or  acquired,  or 
emancipate  himself  from  other  troublesome  and  de- 
forming defects  of  utterance,  should  cultivate  that 
perception  as  his  only  redeeming  principle ;  he 
should,  especially,  aim  at  a  practical  precision  and 
harmony  of  cadence,  which  might  insure  their  full 
effects  to  the  noblest  effusions  of  poetry  and  elo- 
quence. 

It  is  important  to  remark  that  the  rhythmus  of 
our  language  should  first  be  studied  through  the 
medium  of  verse  ;  because  it  is  there  that  it  appears 
in  its  simplest  and  most  perfect  state ;  and  because 
the  fixed  and  determinate  arrangement  of  the  syl- 
lables and  cadences  enable  the  teacher  to  lay  down 
rules  which  assist  in  educating  the  ear ;  while  in 
prose  composition,   it  is  the  ear  and  the  perception 


Barber's  Essay  on  Rhythimis.  269 

alone  that  can  guide  the  reader  in  ascertaining  the 
cadence ;  it  being  the  indispensable  characteristic  of 
prose,  not  only  that  it  should  be  perpetually  vary- 
ing in  the  length  of  the  clauses  and  the  recurrence 
of  emphasis,  but  that  it  should  proceed  through 
all  the  practical  varieties  of  cadence.  In  the  midst 
of  that  variety,  however,  if  smooth  and  flowing,  it 
will  be  found  susceptible  of  an  accurate  notation, 
and  will  preserve,  subject  to  such  notation,  its  met- 
rical proportions. 

So  obvious  and  •  indisputable  are  the  propriety 
and  advantages  of  commencing  the  study  of  elocu- 
tion through  the  medium  of  verse,  that  the  author 
does  not  believe  it  possible  to  acquire  the  art  of 
reading  prose  with  expressive  harmony  through  the 
medium  of  prose  aloJie ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  he 
has  never,  in  a  single  instance,  known  an  individ- 
ual attain  facility  in  reading  our  best  poets,  with- 
out being  able  to  read  prose,  at  the  same  time, 
with  emphasis  and  harmony. 


Chapter  III. 

Selections  Scored  for  lUustraiion. 

By  closely  following  the  examples  scored  accord- 
ing to  the  previous  explanations,  the  reader  may 
satisfy  himself  how  far  his  method  of  reading  aloud 
may  be  in  accord  with  the  principles  of  rhythm, 
as  illustrated  in  the  application  of  accent,  quantity, 
and  pause  to  the  extracts  here  given.  The  musical 
ear,  of  course,  very  quickly  catches  the  rhythmic 
flow ;  where  the  ear  is  sluggish  from  lack  of  culti- 
vation, it  can  soon  be  taught  to  recognize  the  ease 
with  which  language  may  be  measured,  and  the 
beauty  of  such  a  measurement. 

In  the  first  attempts  to  follow  the  scorings,  the 
effect  will  be  necessarily  mechanical,  but  successive 
repetitions  will  accustom  the  reader  to  pronounce 
the  words  "trippingly  on  the  tongue," — the  voice 
passing  smoothly  from  accent  to  accent  without 
making  the  "beat"  of  the  measure  offensively  ap- 
parent to  the  ear. 

The  following  points  should  be  remembered  in 
reading  the  scored  extracts : 

Every  bar,  as  in  music,  is  to  occupy  the  same 
time.  This  time  is  to  be  consumed  in  the  pronun- 
ciation of  the  syllables  contained  in  the  bars,  or 
(270) 


Selections  for  Illustration.  271 

the  syllables  and  pauses,  or  the  pauses  alone,  where 
the  whole  bar  is  devoted  to  rest. 

The  mark  (\  shows  that  a  syllable  is  heavy  or  ac- 
cented ;  the  mark  .  • .  shows  that  a  syllable  is  lii^ht 
or  unaccented  ;  the  mark  •?  indicates  that  a  rest  or 
pause  is  to  be  made. 

A  long  syllable  can  be  extended  through  the 
whole  time  of  a  bar,  and  may  be  made  heavy  or 
accented  in  its  opening,  and  light  at  its  termina- 
tion ;    a  short  one  can  not  fill  a  bar. 

When  the  mark  ^  is  omitted  after  a  short  heavy 
syllable,  standing  alone  in  a  bar,  a  pause  is  to  be 
made  as  if  it  were  present. 

Lastly,  the  progress  of  the  voice  is  to  be  dis- 
tinct from  the  accented  to  the  unaccented  syllable, 
or  from  heavy  to  light,  and  not  from  light  to 
heavy. 

It  will  be  observed  that  some  of  the  exercises 
have  the  heavy  (A)  and  light  (. ' . )  marks  omitted. 
Where  these  marks  are  wanting,  the  position  of  the 
syllables  in  their  relation  to  the  bars  will  be  suffi- 
cient  indication  to  the  reader. 

The  use  of  the  exercises  will  convince  most  per- 
sons that  they  are  deficient  in  rhythm  in  reading 
both    prose    and     poetry,     particularly    the    latter. 

They  mark  the  metre,  but  do  not  introduce  either 
pause  or  time,  consequently  the  beat  becomes 
painful  to  the  cultivated  ear.  By  an  exact  obser- 
vation and  application  of  the  laws  of  rhythm,  read- 
ing ceases  to  be  laborious,  and  the  sense  will  be 
rendered  perfectly  clear,  as  far  as  it  is  dependent 
on  the  capital  point  of  the  distribution  of  measure. 


272         A  Plea  fo7'  Spoken  Language. 

The  Hermit. 
•^  At  the  I  close  of  the  |  day,  |  •y  when  the  |  hamlet  is  |  still,  | 

A       .-.        ■■.  A  .-.       .-.  A     .-.         A  .-.         .-.  A       .-.      .-.         A    .-. 

•y  And  I  mortals  |  "t  the  |  sweets   of  for  |  getfulness  |  prove,  | 

A     .-.  A       .-.  A       .-.  A  .-.       .-.  A       .-.      .-.  A       .•. 

•7  When  I  nought    but    the  |  torrent  |  *   is  |  heard    on    the  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A     .-.  A     .-.  A 

hill,  I 

A     ••• 

•f  And  I  nought   but    the  |  nightingale's  |  song  |  •f   in    the  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A         •••         .-.  A     .-.         A 

grove: [ 
A     .-. 

c?  It  was  I  thus,  I  *^  by  the  |  cave  of  the  [  mountain  a  |  far,  | 

A     .-.  .-.  A     .-.  A     ■■•  •■•  A  .-.        .-.  A  .-.        .-.        A   .-. 

•?  While  his  |  harp  rung   sym  |  phonious,  |  "^  a  |  hermit  be-  | 

A  .-.  .-.  A  .••  •••  A       .-.     .-.  A       .-.  A      .-. 

gan;  | 

A   .-. 

•y  No  I  more  with   him  |  self,  |  •?  or   with  |  nature  at  |  war,  | 

A  .-.  A  •■■  •••  A     .-.       a'        .-.  .-.  A         .-.  .-.  A     .-. 

•y    He  I  thought   as    a  |  sage  |  *?    tho'  he  |  felt  as  a  |  man.  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.         ••■         A     .-.       A  .-.  .••  A  .-.     .-.         A     .-. 

1  I 

A     .-.     A     .-. 

Ah,  I  why  I  •f  all  a  I  bandon'd  to  |  darkness  and  |  woe,  | 

A.-.  A   •••        A         .-.     •••  A  .■•  •■•  A         .-.  .-.  A.-. 

Why,  I  lone  Philo  |  mela,  |  *f  that  |  languishing  |  fall?  | 

A     .-.  A  ■••    •■•  A     .-.        A  .-.  A  .-.        .-.  A   .-. 

•f  For  I  spring  shall   re  |  turn,  |  ^  and  a  |  lover  be  |  stow,  | 

a'        .-.  A  •■•  •■•  ■••  A         .-.  •■•         A     •••         .-.  A  .-. 

•T  And  I  sorrow  |  •?  no  |  longer  thy  |  bosom  en  |  thrall,  | 

A  .-.  A     .-.  A        .-.  A       •••  ■■■  A     •••  ■••  A       .-. 

*  But  if  I  pity  in  |  spire  thee,  |  *7  re  |  new  the  sad  |  lay ;  | 

A         .-.  •••        A   .-.       ■•■  A  •■■  A       .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A   .-. 

Mourn,    |   sweetest    com   |    plainer,   |    man   |    calls    thee    to   | 

A       .■.  A  .■.  •■•  A  ■•.  A     •'•  A 

mourn ;  | 

A 

Oh,  I  soothe  him  |  •f  whose  |  pleasures,  |  ^  like  |  thine  |  pass 

A   .•.  A  .•■  A  A  A  •■.  A  ■■■  A     .-.  A 

a  I  way;  | 

A     -•. 

Full   I  quickly    they  |  pass:  |  ^    but  they  |  never  re  |  turn.  | 


Selections  for  Jllnstration.  273 

Now  I  gliding  re  |  mole,  |  •^  on  the  |  verge  of  the  |  sky,  | 
*   The  I  moon    half   ex  |  tinguished,  I  •?  her  I  crescent  dis-  I 

A  ■■•  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A        .-. 

plays;  | 

A    '  ■■■ 

•7  But  I  lately  I  |  marked  |  *  when  ma  |  jestic  on  |  high;  | 

A  •■•  A       .-.       .-.  A        .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A     .-.        .-.  A     .-. 

=7    She  I  shone,  |  •?    and    the  I  planets    were  I  lost    in    the  I 

A  .-.  A       .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A       .-.  .-.  A 

blaze.  I 

A   .-. 

Roll  I  on,  thou  fair  |  orb,  |  *  and  with  |  gladness  pur  |  sue  | 

A     •'•  A  .-.  .-.  A   .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A   .-. 

•7    The  I  path  |   *^    that    con   |  ducts    thee  to  |  splendor  a-  | 


A    .• 

gain; 


•y   But  I  man's    faded  |  glory  |  •?    what  |  change   shall  re-  | 

A  .■.  A  .-.     .-.  A     /.  a'  .-.  A 

new  ?  I 

A     .-. 

Ah,  I  fool !  I  "^  to  ex  I  ult  in  a  |  glory  so  |  vain !  |        | 

A.'.  A   .'.  A       •■•        ••■         A  .'.      .■.  A       ■■■        .■.  A     .■.  A   -■.      A   .'. 

•f 'Tis  I  night,  |  ^  and  the  |  landscape  is  |  lovely  no  |  more;  | 

a'         .-.  A       .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A       .-.'       .-.  A     .-. 

•f    I  I  mourn,  |  «*    but    ye  |  woodlands    I   |  mourn    not    for  I 

A     .-.  A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A 

you;  I 

A     .-. 

•7  For  I  morn    is  ap  |  preaching,  |  •?  your  |  charms  to  re-  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.         .-.  A         •■•     •■■  A  .-.  A  .-.       .-. 

store,  I 

A     .-. 

•f  Per  I  fum'd  with  fresh  |  fragrance,  |  "^and  [.glittering  with  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A  ■•■  A 

dew.  I 

A     .-. 

•y  Nor  I  yet  |  ^  for  the  |  ravage  of  |  winter  I  |  mourn;  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.       A        •••  •••  A     .-.  .-.  A     .-.  .-.  A 

Kind  I  nature  |  •?  the  |  embryo  |  blossom  will  |  save;  | 

A     .-.  A       •••  A  •■•  A  .-.   .-.  A  .-.  .'.  A     .-. 

*^  But  I  when  shall  |  spring  |  visit  the  |  mouldering  |  urn  ?  | 
Oh,  I  when  shall  it  |  dawn  |  ^  on  the  |  night  of  the  |  grave!  | 


2  74         ^  Pica  for  Spoken  Language. 

*1  It   was  I  thus,  I  •?   by    the  |  glare    of   false  |  science  be-  | 

A       .-.  .-.  A     .-.         A  ••  •■•  A  .-.  .-.  A 

tray'd,  | 

A       .-. 

•f  That  I  leads  to  be  |  wilder;  |  •^  and  |  dazzles  to  |  blind:  | 

A  .-.  A  ■■■        ■•■  A        .-.  A  .-.  A     .-.  ■••  A     .-. 

•»  My  I  thoughts    wont   to  ]  roam,  |  «f   from  |  shade  |  onward 

a'       .-.  A  .-.  •••  A     .-.  A  .-.  A       .-.  A 

to  I  shade,  |        | 

A       .-.         A     .-. 

•y  De  I  struction  be  |  fore  me,  |  •?  and  |  sorrow  be  |  hind,  | 

A  .-.  A       .-.  .-.  A  ■■•  A  .-.  A     ••■  .-.  A       .-. 

"Oh,  I  pity!  I  great  |  Father  of  |  light,"  |  ^  then  I  |  cried,  |       | 

A  ••.  A   .-.  A     .'.  A  .■•  •■•  A       •■•  A  .-.        .■.  A     .-.  A   .-. 

"Thy  I  creature,  |  *1  who  |  fain    would    not  |  wander    from  | 

A  ■•■  A  .-.  A  .-.  A  .-.  ■■.  A 

thee; | 

A     ■•. 

Lo !  I  humble  in  |  dust,  |  •y  I  re  |  linquish  my  |  pride:  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A   .-.  A      •■■       ■  A  .-.  .■  A 

•f   From  I  doubt    and    from  |  darkness,  |  thou  |  only    canst  | 

a'  •■■  A  .-.  ••  A  .-.  A     .-.  A     .-. 

free."  |        |        | 

A     .-.  A    .-.     A   .'. 

•*  And  I  darkness  and  |  doubt  |  •?  are  now  |  flying  a  |  way,  | 

A  A  .-.  .-.  A     .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A     .-.     .  .  A    .-. 

No  I  longer  I  |  roam  in  de  |  jection   for  |  lorn,  |        | 

A  .-.  A        ■■•        .-.  A  ■■        .-.  A       ••  ••  A   •••  A     .-. 

So  j  breaks  on  the  |  ti-aveler,  |  |  faint  and  a  |  stray,  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  i.       ■■■    ■-.  A     .-.  A  ••.        .'.  A     ••■ 

•T    The  I  bright    and    the  |   balmy  ef  |  fulg:nce  of  |  morn.  | 

A  .••  A  .-.  •■.  A       .-.       .-.  A         .-.  .-.  A      •■. 

I  . 

A     .-. 

See  I  truth,  love  and  |  mercy  |  ^^  •"  I  triumph  de  |  scending,  | 

A     ■■  A  .-.  .-.  A     •■  A       •■.  A  .-.  .-.  A 

•f  And  I  Nature  |  all  |  glowing  in  |  Eden's  first  |  bloom  !  | 

a'  •■•  A       •••  A  .-.  A  ■•         .-.  A         .-.  .-.  A     .-. 

On    the  I  cold   cheek    of  |   death,  |  smiles    and  |  roses   are  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A       .-.  A  .■.  A     •■. 

blending,  | 

A 

•^  And  I  beauty  im  |  mortal  |  •?  a  |  wakes  from  the  |  tomb.  | 

A  .-.  A       .-.  .-.  A       .-.  A        ■••  A  .-.  .-.  A     .-. 

I        I  —BmUic. 


I 


Selections  foi-  Illustraliuii.  2  75 

Apostrophe  to  Light. 
Hail  I  holy  |  Light,  |        |  offspring  of  |  Heav'n  |  first  |  born,  | 

A     •■  A   .'•  A      ••.  A   .-.  A  •.  .-.  A  .-.  A   .-.  A      .-. 

I  Or  of  the  E  |  ternal  |        |  co-e  |  ternal  |  beam,  |        | 

A     .•.  A       .•-         ••.       ••■  A       ••.         A  .•.       A  .-.  A     .•■  A     •■•         A     .-. 

May  I   ex  |  press  |  thee  |  un  |  blam'd?  |         |  •?    Since  |  God  | 

A  ••.      .'.  A     .".  A      •.         A  .'.         A         .•.  A  .'.      A  .•..  A   .•. 

•f  is  I  light,  I 

A       .-.         A     .-. 

•7  And  I  never  |   "^  but  in  |  unap  |  proached  |  light  | 

A  .••  A       .■.         A         .-.         .-.  A  •••  A  A      ••  '  ■ 

Dwelt  from  e  |  ternity,  |        |  dwelt  |  then  in  |  thee,  | 

A  .••  .••  A  .•.   .•.         A    •.         A     .-.  A         ••  A    .•. 

I  Bright  I  effluence  |  "^  of  |  bright  |  essence  |  incre  |  ate.  | 

A  •••         A      ■•  A     .-.      .-.         A      •■•  A        •.  A      .-.  A     .-.        A  .*. 

A      .-.      A   .-. 

•f  Or  I  hears't  thou  |  rather,  |        |  pure  e  |  thereal  |  stream.  | 

A         .-.  A  •••  A     •••         A     .-.         A         .-.  A     .-.  .-.  A       .-. 

A    .-. 

•7  Whose  I  fountain  |  who  shall  |  tell?  |        |  •?  Be  [  fore  the  | 

A  A  A       •••  A  .-.  A  .-.         A  .-.     A       .-.  A 

sun,  I 

A   .-. 

•7  Be  I  fore    the  |  Heav'ns  |  thou  |  wert,  |         |  and   at    the  | 

A         ••■  A  .-.  A  .-.  A     ••.  A     .-.        A     .-.  A 

voice  I 

A   .-. 

•f  Of  I  God  I        I  as  with  a  |  mantle,  |  •y  didst  in  |  vest  | 

A  ••.  A   .-.  A   .-.        A  .-.        .-.  A       .-.  A  A  .-.  A   .-. 

•7  The  I  rising  |  world  of  |  waters  |        |  dark  |  •?  and  |  deep  | 

A  A  A     .-.  A  .-.  A       .-.  A    .-.  A   ••.        A  .'.  A   .-. 

I   Won    from    the  |    void   |   •f  and   |  formless  |  infinite.  | 

A      •••  A  .-.  .-.  A   .-.  A  '         .■•  A  •.  A   .-.      .-. 

I  I 

A     .-.     A     .-. 

Thee  I  re  |  visit  |  now  |  •?  with  |  bolder  |  wing,  | 

A  .•.     .'.  A   .•.  A   .".  A  .-.  A      .-.  A     .-. 

•7  Es  I  cap'd  the  |  Stygian  |  pool  |        |  •y  though  |  long  de-  | 

A        .-.  A  .-.  A       .-.  .-.         A     .-.       A  .-.       A  A 

tain'd  | 

A      .-. 

•7  In  I  that    ob  |  scure   so  |  journ  |        |  while  |  •?   in    my  | 

A  •■  A  .-.  A  .-.  A     .-.  A     •••  A       ••.  A       .'. 

flight    I 


276         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

•y    Through  |  utter  |  •y    and    through   |   middle  |   darkness  | 

A  .-.  A     .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A       .-.  A 

borne,  | 

A     .■. 

•f  With  I  other  |  notes  |  than  to  the  Or  |  phean  |  lyre  | 

A  .-.  A      ■■■  A   .■.  A  .-.  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A     •■. 

•f  I  I  sung  of  I  chaos  |  •^  and  e  |  ternal  |  night,  |        |        | 

A       .-.  A  .-.  A     •••  A  .-.  .-.  A       .-.  A     .-.  A  .-.      A  .-. 

Taught  by  the  |  heavenly  |  Muse  |  •?  to  |  venture  |  down  | 

A  .-.         .-.  A     .-.     .-.  A     .-.  A      .-.  A         .-.  A     .-. 

•f  The  I  dark  de  |  scent  |        |  •f  and  |  up  to  |  re-as  |  cend  | 

A'        .-.  A  •■■         A     .-.         A  .-.     A'        .-.  A       .-.         A       .-.  A     .-. 

7  Though  I  hard  |  •^  and  ]  rare ;  |        |  thee  I  re  |  visit  |  safe  | 

A  •••  A    .-.         A         •••  A     •••         A  .-.  A       .-.   .-.  A  •■•  A  •■. 

•y   And   I  feel    thy  |  sov'reign  |  vital  |  lamp:  |         |  •?   but  | 

A  •■•  A  •••  A  •  •••  A  .-.  A     .-.  A     .-.     A 

thou  I 

A     .-. 

•7  Re  I  visit'st  |  not  |  these  |  eyes,  |  •?  that  |  roll  in  |  vain  | 

A         .-.  A  .-.  A   .-.  A     .-.  A     .-.         A  •••  A  .-.  A     .•. 

•7  To  I  find    thy  |  piercing  |  ray,  |         |  •^   and  |  find  |  no  | 

A         ••■  A  .-.  A         .■.  A  •••         A  •••       A  .-.  A     ••  A  ■■. 

dawn ; |        | 

A     .-.         A     •■. 

•y    So  I  thick    a  |  drop    se  |  rene  |  •?   hath  |  quench'd    their  | 

A         .■•  A  .-.  A  .-.         A     •••  A  ••  A 

orbs  I        I 

A  •■■       A  .-. 

*   Or  I  dim    suf  |   fusion    |  veil'd  |         |         |  Yet    not    the   | 

A        ■•■  A  .-.  A     .-.  A     .-.         A     .'.     A     .'.         A 

more  | 

A     .-. 

Cease  I  to  |  wander  |        [  where  the  |  muses  |  haunt,  | 

A  .-.    .-.  A        .-.  A   .-.  A  .-.  A        •■•  A     .'. 

Clear  |  spring  |  •f  or  |  shady  |  grove,  |  •^  or  |  sunny  |  hill,  | 

A     .-.  A     •■•  a'        .-.  A       .••  A       •••  A  .-.  A       ■■■"  A   .-. 

I  Smit    with    the  |  love    of  |  sacred  |  song ;  |         j  ^7    but  | 

A     .••  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A        ■.  A     •■•  A     •••     A 

chief  I 
A  .-. 

Thee  |  Sion,  |  •y  and  the  |  flow'ry  |  brooks  be  |  neath  | 

A     .-.  A     .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A       .-.  A  •■■  A       .-. 

•f    That  I  wash  |  thy  |  hallow'd  |  feet,  |  "^    and  |  warbling  | 

A  .-.  A     .-.         A  .-.  A         .-.  A     .-.  A  .-.  A 

flow,  I 

A     .-. 

I  Nightly  I  •?  I  I  visit:  |        |  ^  nor  |  some  |  times  |  "^  for  | 

A  .-.  A         .-.         A       .-.         A     .-.       A     .-.     A         ■••  A     .-.  A    .-.         A 

get  I 


Selections  for-  llhistration.  277 

Those  I  other  |  two  |  equal'd   with  |  me  in  |  fate,  | 

A       •■•  A     .'.  A  ■■•  A         .'.  .•.  A       .".  A  •■• 

I  So  were  |    I    |  equal'd   with  |  them  in  re  |  nown  | 

A       •.        A  .'.  A.'.  A  ••■  ■■■  A  ■••       •.  A     .-. 

I  Bhnd  I  Thamyris,  |  •y  and  |  bhnd  Mae  |  onides,  | 

A   .••  A     .-.  A  .••      •■■  A  A  .-.  A   .-.    .-. 

•f  And  Ty  |  resias  |  •?    and  |  Phineus,  |        |  prophets  |  old:  | 

A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  •■•      A  .-.  A     •••    ••         A  .-.  A        .-.  A  .-. 

I 
A     .-. 

Then  |  feed  on  |  thoughts,  |  •^  that  |  voluntary  |  move  | 

A     .■.  A  .-.  A  .•■         A  .-.  A     .-.         .-.  A     .-. 

•t  Har  I  monious  |  numbers ;  |  •?  as  the  |  wakeful  |  bird  | 

A  .••  A     .-.     .-.  A  .-.  A         .-.         .-.  A         .-.  A     .-. 

Sings  I  darkling  |  ^  and  in  |  shadiest  |  covert  |  hid  | 
A    ■•         A     .-.        A      ■•■      .■■         A  .-.  .-.        A  .-.      A  •■. 

I  Tunes  her  noc  |  turnal  |  note.  |        |        |  Thus  with  the  | 

A  .'.  A  .'•  •••  A     ••■  A   .-.  A   •••      A   .-.  A 

year  ] 

A   .-. 

Seasons  |  •?  re  |  turn,  |  •t    but  |  not    to  |  me  |  "f    re  |  turns  | 

A       .-.  A         •••  A   y-  A  •■•  A  .-.  A   .-.  A  .-.  A     .-. 

Day  I  •?  or  the  |  sweet  ap  |  proach  of  |  ev'n  |  •f  and  |  morn;  | 

A  .-.         A     •■•         •■•  A  .-.  A  •■•         A     •■•        A         ■■•  A     .-. 

I 
A     .-. 

•f    Or  I  sight    of  I  vernal  |  bloom,  |   *   or  |  summer's  |  rose, 

A    ■•■       A     ■■•      A    .-.     A   •••     A    ••■     A     •••       A  .-. 

I       I 
A  ••■ 

•7  Or  I  flocks,  I  •f  or  I  herds,  |  |  •?  or  |  human  |  face  di-  | 

A       .-.  A       .-.  A       .-.  A       .-.  A     .-.     A       .-.  A         .-.  A 

vine;  |  | 

A     •■•         A     .-. 

•t  But  I  cloud  I  ^7  in  I  stead,  |  ^  and  |  ever  |  during  |  dark  | 

A  ••■  A       .-.        A  .-.  A       .-.         A  .-.  A     .-.  A     .-.  A     .-. 

^  Sur  I  rounds  me,  |  •t  from  the  |  cheerful  |  ways  of  |  men  | 

A         .-.  ■••  •••  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A  .-.  A     .-. 

Cut  I  off,  I  and  for  the  |  book  of  |  knowledge  |  fair  | 

A  .-.         A  .-.  A  .-.         •■.  A  A  ••  A  ■■• 

•7  Pre  I  sented  |  •?  with  a  |  uni  |  versal  |  blank  | 

A  •••  A     .-.  A  ••■  ■••  A  .-.  A     .-.  A       .-. 

•7  Of  I  Nature's  |  works  |         |  •?  to  |  me  |  •?  ex  |  pung'd  and  | 

A  ••■  A  •••  A       .-.  A   .-.      A       .-.  A   .-.     A  .-.  A 

raz'd  I  I 

A     .-.         A     .-. 

•7  And  I  Wisdom,  |  "T  at  |  one  |  entrance,  |  |  quite   shut  | 

A  A  A         .-.  A         .■.         A  .-.  A         .-.  A     .-.  A 

out.  1  I  I 


278         A  Plea  fo7'-  Spoken  Language. 

So  much  the  ]  rather  |  thou,  |  "^  ce  |  lestial  |  Light  | 

A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A     .-.        A  .-.  A   .-.    .-.  A       .-. 

Shine  |  inward,  |         |  •?  and  the  |  mind  |  •^  through  |  all  her  | 

A     .-.  A  .-.  A    .-.      A  .-.  .-.  A     .-.        A  .-.  A       .-. 

powers  I 

A       .-. 

•7  Ir  I  radiate,  |       |  there  |  plant  |  eyes,  |        |  all  |  mist  from  | 

A       .-.  A     .-.     .-.     A.'.         A     .-.  A     .-.  A     .-.        A  .-.     A.;.  A 

thence  | 

A 

I  Purge  and  dis  |  perse,  |  |  that  I  may  |  see  |  •f  and  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A       •■•  A     .-.  .-.       .-.         .-.  A  .-.       A 

tell  I 

A  .-. 


•t  Of  I  things  in  |  visible  |  •?  to  |  mortal  |  sight.  | 

A*  •  •  A--A'  A  •  A- 


—Milton. 


St.  Paul's  Defense  before  King  Agrippa. 

Then  A  |  grippa  |  said    unto  |  Paul,  |         |  Thou  art  per-  | 
mitted  to  |  speak  for  thy  |  self.  |      |      |  Then  |  Paul  |  stretched 
forth  the  |  hand,  |  •*  and  |  answered  |  •^  for  him  |  self.  |      |      | 

•^  I  I  think  myself  |  happy,  |  |  King  A  |  grippa,  |  ^  be-  | 
cause  I  shall  |  answer  for  my  |  self  |  this  |  day  |  •y  be  |  fore  | 
thee,  I  touching  |  all  the  |  things  |  •^  where  |  of  |  •^  I  am  ac-  | 
cused  I  •?  of  the  |  Jews :  |  |  wherefore  ]  •^  I  be  |  seech  thee  | 
•7  to  I  hear  me  |  patiently.  | 

I        I  "f  My  I  manner   of  |  life  |  •^  from    my  |  youth,  |        | 
which  was  at  the  |  first  |  •*  a  |  mong  mine  |  own  |  nation  |  *^ 
at  Je  I  rusalem,  |  know  |  all  the  |  Jews;  |        |  "^  which  |  knew 
me  I  *^  from  the  be  |  ginning,  |  if  they  would  |  testify ;  |  •f  that  | 
after   the  |  most  |  straitest  |  sect  |  •^  of  our  re  |  ligion  |  "^  I  | 
lived  a  |  Pharisee.  |        | 

I  t^  And  I  now  i  ^^    I  |  stand  |  •*    and   am  |  judged  |  ^    for 
the  I  hope  of  the  |  promise  |  made   of  |  God  |  ^   unto    our  | 
fathers :  ]    |  "f  unto  |  which  |  promise  |  *^  our  |  twelve  |  tribes,  | 
instantly  ]  serving  |  God  |  day  and  |  night,  |  hope  to  |  come. 
I        I        I  "^  For  I  which  |  hope's  |  sake,  |  King  A  |  grippa,  | 
I  am   ac  |  cused  |  •y  of  the  |  Jews.  |        |        |  Why  |  should 
it  be  I  thought  |  •^   a  |  thing   in  |  credible  |  •^    with  |  you,  |  •^ 
that  I  God  I  •?  should  |  raise  the  |  dead?  |        |        |  I  |  verily  | 


Selections  foj"  Illustration.  279 

thought  with  my  |  self,  [  "^  that  I  |  ought  to  |  do  |  many  things  | 
contrary  |  •y  to  the  |  name  of  |  Jesus  of  |  Nazareth.  | 

I      I  "^  Which  I  thing  |  "^  I  |  also  |  did  |  "7  in  Je  |  rusalem :  | 
M    and  |  many   of  the  |  saints  |  ^   did    I  |  shut  up  in  |  prison, 
I     I  having  re  |  ceived  au  |  thority  |  •^  from  the  |  chief  |  priests ; 

I  I  •y  and  I  when  they  were  |  put  to  |  death,  |  "^  I  |  gave  | 
my  I  voice  |  •?  a  |  gainst  them.  |        |        |  "^   And   I  |  punished 
them  I  oft  1  •y    in  I  every  |  synagogue,  |  •^    and    com  |  pelled 
them  I  •y  to  bias  |  pheme;  |        |  ^  and  |  being  ex  |  ceedingly  | 
mad   a  |  gainst  them,  |  •^  I  |  persecuted  them  |  even   unto  | 
strange  |  cities.  |        |         |  Whereupon   as   I  |  went  to    Da-  | 
mascus,  |        |  •^  with  au  |  thority,  |  "^    and   com  |  mission  |  ^ 
from  the  |  chief  |  priests,  |  •y  at  |  mid  |  day,  |  O  |  king,  |  "^  I  | 
saw  in  the  |  way  |  "7  a  |  light  from  |  heaven,  |  •f  a  |  bove  the  | 
brightness  |  •y  of  the  |  sun,  |         |  shining  |  round  a  |  bout  | 
me,  I  •^  and  |  them  which  |  journeyed  |  with   me.  |        |        |  "^ 
And  I  when  we  were  |  all  |  fallen  to  the  |  earth,  |  "^  I  |  heard 
a  I  voice  |  speaking    unto   me,  |  ^    and  |  saying  |  •^    in   the  | 
Hebrew  |  tongue,  |        |  Saul,  |         |  Saul,  |  why  |  perseciitest 
thou  I  me?  |        |  •f  It  is  |  hard  |  for  thee  |  •^  to  |  kick  a  |  gainst 
the  I  pricks.  |       |       |  •y  And  1  |  said,  |  Who  |  art  thou,  |  Lord? 

II  I  •^  And  he  |  said,  |  *y    I   am  |  Jesus,  |       |  whom  thou 
I  persecutes!.  |      |      |  •^  But  |  rise  |  •^  and  |  stand  upon  thy  | 

feet;  |      |  •^  for  |  I  have  ap  |  peared  unto  thee  |  "^  for  |  this  | 
purpose,  I  •^  to  j  make  thee  a  |  minister  |  *  and  a  |  witness  | 
both  of  1  these  |  things  |  which  thou  hast  |  seen,  |  *^  and  of  | 
those  I  things  |  ^   in    the  |  which  |  •^    I    will    ap  |  pear  unto 
thee;  |      |  "^  de  |  livering  thee  |  *^   from   the  |  people,  |  ^  and 
from  the  |  Gentiles,  |  •^  unto  |  whom  |  now   I  |  send  thee;  |  *^ 
to  I  open  their  |  eyes,  |  •y  and  to  |  turn    them  |  "^  from  |  dark- 
ness I  "7  to  I  light,  I  •*  and  from  the  |  power  of  |  Satan  |  •^  unto  | 
God;  I  I  ^   that  |  they   may    re  |  ceive  |  "^    for  |  giveness 

of  I  sins,  I  •y  and  in  |  heritance  |  "^  ^  I  rnong  |  them  which  are  | 
sanctified,  |  •^  by  |  faith  |  •^  that  is  in  |  me.  |  |  |  Whereup-  | 
on,  I  O  I  king  A  |  grippa,  |  |  I  was  |  not  diso  |  bedient  |  ^ 
unto  the  |  heavenly  |  vision:  |  |  "^but  |  showed  |  first  |  •^unto  | 
them  of  Da  |  mascus,  |  |  "^  and  at  Je  |  rusalem,  |  "^  and 
through  I  out  |  all   the  |  coasts    of  Ju  |  dea,  |  *  and  |  then  |  •^ 


28o         A  Plea  for  Spokeji  Language. 


God, 


7L 


tinue  I 

both   to  I  small  and  |  great, 

than  I  those  |  ^  which 

say,  I  ^  should  |  come. 


to  the  I  Gentiles,  |      |  that  they  should  re  |  pent  |  •*  and  |  turn 
to  I  God,  I  *^  and  [  do  [  works  |  meet  for  re  |  pentance.  |     |     | 
•^  For  I  these  |  causes  |  •f  the  |  Jews  |  caught  me  in  the  |  tem- 
ple, I      I  "f   and  I  went  a  |  bout  |  "^  to  |  kill  me.  |      |      |  Hav- 
ing I  therefore  |  "^  ob  |  tained  |  help  of 
•7  unto  I  this  I  day,  |  witnessing 
I      I  saying  |  none  |  other  |  things  |  *7 
the  I  prophets  |  •*  and  |  Moses  |  •^  did  | 
I      I      I  "^   That  I  Christ  |  ^  should  |  suffer,  |  ^  and  that  |  he 
should  be   the  |  first  |  •*  that  should  |  rise  from  the  |  dead,  | 
•7  and  should  |  shew  |  light  |  ^  unto  the  |  people,  |  and  |  •^  to 
the  I  Gentiles.  |      |      |  •^  And  as  he  |  thus  |  spake  for  himself, 
I      I  Festus  I  said  with    a  |  loud  |  voice,  |       |  Paul,  |  thou  art 
be  I  side  thyself;  |      |  much  |  learning  |  •^  doth  |  make  thee  | 
mad.  I      I      I  But   he  |  said,  |  ^  I   am  |  not  |  mad,  |  **^  most  | 
noble  I  Festus,  |  •^  but  |  speak  forth  the  |  words  of  |  truth  |  •* 
and  I  soberness.  |     |     |  «7  For  the  |  king  |  knoweth  of  |  these  | 
things,  I  "7  be  I  fore  |  whom  |  also  |  "f  I  |  speak  |  freely:  |      | 
•^  for  I  I  am  per  |  suaded  |  ^  that  |  none   of  |  these  |  things  | 

I  •f  for  I  this  I  thing  |  **,    was  | 

I       I  King    A  I  grippa,  |  *^  be-  | 

I      I  •^  I  I  know  I  •^  that    thou 

A  I  grippa  |  said    unto  |  Paul,  | 

I  me  I  ^  to  be  a  I  Christian.  |     | 

would   to  I  God,  I   °?  that  |  not 


•7  are  |  hidden  from  |  him;  | 
not  I  done  in    a  |  corner.  | 
lievest  thou  the  |  prophets?  | 
be  I  lievest.  |      |       |  Then  |  •^ 
Al  I  most  I  thou  per  |  suadest 
•7   And  I  Paul  |  said,  I  •?    I  ' 
only  I  thou,  |  •^ 
were  |  both  |  al 
ex  I  cept  I  these  |  bonds 


/ 
but  I  also  I  all  that  |  hear  me  |  this  |  day,  |  •* 

most,  I  •*  and  |  alto  |  gether  |  such  as  |  I  am,  | 


I      I      I  — Acts  xxxvi.,   1-29. 


The  Ocean. 


Roll  I  on,  I  *7  thou  I  deep  |  •y  and  |  dark  |  blue  |  ocean,  |        | 

A  .-.         A.-.         A         .-.  A     .-.         A         .-.  A  ■■•  A  .-.  A  .-.   .-.   '      A     .-. 

roll! 


I  I 

A  .-.  A     .-.      A     .•. 

•y  Ten  I  thousand  |  fleets 
A      .-.  A      .-.  A  .-. 

vain,  I  I         I 


sweep    over  |  thee,  |  "^  in  | 


Selections  for  Illiistratioji.  281 

Man  I  marks   the  |  earth  |  •y   with  |  ruin  |  ]  "f   hi;  con-  | 

A   .-.  A  •••  A     .-.  A  .-.  A   .-.  A     .-.       A  .-.  A 

trol  I 

A  .-. 

Stops  with  the  |  shore;  |  |  upon  the  |  watery  |  plain  | 

A  .-.  .-.  A     .•.  A     .•.  A     .-.        A   .■•  A   .-.   .-.  A     .-. 

•?   The  I  wrecks    are  |  all  |  thy  |  deed;   |  |  nor    doth  re-  | 

A  .-.  A  .■•  A  .-.       A  .-.  A     .-.  A     .-.  A 

main  | 

A     .-. 

•7  A  I  shadow  of  |  man's  |  ravage,  |        |  save  his  |  own,  |        [ 

A       ■■■  A  .-.        .-.  A        .-.  A  .-.  A     .••  A  .-.  A     .-.        A   .-. 

When  for  a  |  moment,  |  |  •^  like  a  |  drop  of  |  rain,  | 

A  .-.        .-.  A  .-.  A     .-.        A  •■•        .-.  A  .-.  A     .-. 

•7    He  I  sinks   |  "y    into  |  thy  |   depths  [  ^^    with  |  bubbling  | 

A         .-.  A     ■••  A       •■•   .-.  A  .-.  A       .-.  A  .-.  A 

groan, | 

A       .-. 

•^  With  I  out  a  I  grave,  |        |  *  un  |  knell'd,  |  "fun  ]  coffin'd,  | 

A  .-.  A     .-.  A       •••  A   .-.      a'      .-.  A  .-.  A        ••.  A 

^  and  un  |  known.  |  |  | 

A  .••  •■•  A  .-.  A     .-.        A     .-. 

•7  The  armaments,  1  •*  which  |   thunderstrike  |  •f  the  |  walls  | 

A  ■•■  A       .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A.-. 

•y    Of  I  rock-built  |  cities,   |  |  bidding  |   nations  |  quake,  | 

A  •••  A  .-.  A     .-.  A   .-.  A  .-.  A  .-.  A 

A     .-. 

•7  And  I  monarchs  |  |  tremble  |  *^  in  their  |  capitals,  | 

A  .■.  A  .-.  A     ••.  A  .-.  A       .•.  .■.  A   .-.      .-. 

I  ^  The  I  oak  le  |  viathans,  |  •?  whose  |  huge  |  ribs  |  make  | 

A.-.  A  .-.  A  .-.  A   .-.        .-.  A  •■•  A     .-.  A   .-.  A     .-. 

*7  Their  |  clay  ere  |  ator  |  •^  the  vain  |  title  |  take,  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  A  .-.  A  •■•  •■•  A   .-.  A    .-. 

•7  Of  I  lord  of  I  thee,  |  ^  and  |  arbiter  of  |  war!  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  A   .-.  A  ••■  A   .-.    .-.        .-.  A   .-. 

These  are  thy  |  toys,  |  |  and  as  the  |  snowy  |  flake,  | 

A  .•.  ■••  A   .'.  A     .■.  A  .-.  .•.  A       •■■  A      .-. 

•f  They  |  melt  into  thy  |  yeast  of  |  waves,  |  •?  which  |  mar  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.   .-.        .-.  A  .-.  A       .-.  A  .'.  A   .-. 

•y  A  I  like   the    Ar  |  mada's  |  pride,  |  or  |  spoils  of  |  Trafal-  | 

A       .-.  A  .-.  •■•  A       .-.  A     .•.  A  .-.  A  .-.  A      .-. 

gar.  I  i  1 

A.-.        A     .-.        A     .-. 

•y  Thy  I  shores  are  |  empires,  |  |  chang'd   in  ]  all  |  save  | 

A  .-.  A  ••.  A         .-.  A     .•.  A  •••       A.-.         A     .-. 

thee,  I 

A      •. 

p.  S.  L.-24. 


282         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

I  ^7  As  I  Syria,  |        |  Greece,  |        |  Rome,  |        |  Carthage,  | 

A  .-.    A  .■.  A     .-.  A   .-.  A         .••  A  .-.  A     .■.  A   .'.  A 

I  what  are  |  they  ?  | 
A   .-.         A       .•■        A   .-. 

•t  Thy  I  waters  |  wasted  them  |  |  while  they  were  |  free,  | 

A  .-.  A       .-.  A       .-.  .-.  A     .-.  A  •■■  •■•  A   .-. 

I  ^  And  I  many  a  |  tyrant  |  since:  |        |  "^  their  |  shores  | 

A   .-.        A  .-.  A   .-.  .-.  A       .-.  A     .-.  A   .-.      A  .-.  A     .-. 

7  o  1  bey  I 

A     .-.  A  .-. 

7  The  I  stranger,  |  slave,  |  7  or  |  savage;  |  7  their  de  |  cay  ] 

A         .-.  A         .-.  A      .-.  A     .-.  A       •■•  A  .-.  •■•         A  .-. 

•7  Has  I  dried  up  |  realms  |  •y  to  |  deserts,  |  |  not  |  so  | 

A         .-.  A  •••  A         .-.  A      .-.  A         ••.  A       .-.     A.-.         A.'. 

thou,  1  I 

A     .-.  A     .-. 

Un   I  changeable,  |  |  save    to  thy  |  wild  |  waves  |  play:  | 

A  .-.  A       .-.    ■.   ••.  A       .■.  A  ••■         •■•  A     .•-  A      ••.  A    .-. 

I 
A       .-. 

Time  |  writes  |  no  |  wrinkle  |  •?  on  |  thine  |  azure  |  brow;  | 

A     .-.  A     .-.  A   .-.  A  .-.  A        •■.  A     .-.  A     .-.  A     .-. 

I  Such  as  ere  |  ation's  |  dawn  |   *^  be  |  held,  ]  |  thou  | 

A    ••  A  .-.         .-.  A       •■.  A      .-.  A       .••  A     •■■         A       -■.       A     .-. 

roUest  I  now.  |  |  | 

A        .-.  A   .-.  A     .-.  A     .•• 

Thou  I  glorious  |  mirror,  |  where  the  Al  |  mighty's  |  form  | 

A  .-.  A  .-.  .-.  A     .-.  A  .•.         .-.  A         .-.  A  .-. 

Glasses  it  |  self  in  |  tempests;  |  "^  in  |  all  |  time,  | 

A         .-.         .-.  A       .-.  A  .-.  A       .-.  A  •••  A  .-. 

Calm  I  •y  or  con  |  vuls'd,  |  |  •?  in  |  breeze,  |  ^^  or  |  gale,  | 

A  .-.         A       .-.         .-.  A       .-.  A     .-.       A     .-.  A       .-.  A       .-.  A     .". 

•7  or  I  storm,  | 
A    .-.       A    .-. 

I  Icing  the  |  pole,  |  or  in  the  |  torrid  |  clime  | 

A   .-.  A   .-.  .-.  A   .-.  A       .-.         .-.  A     •■■  A     .-. 

Dark  |  heaving;  |  |  boundless,  |         \  endless,  |         |  *^ -aw.^ 

A     •••  A         .-.  A       .-.  A  •••  A       .-.         A         .-.  A     .-.       A       -•. 

sub  I  lime.  |  | 

A  .-.         A       •■• 

•y  The  I  image  of  E  |  ternity!  |  |  •^  the  |  throne  | 

A  .••  A         .'.        .-.        .-.  A     .-.   .-.  A       .-.      A  ■■•  A 

•7  Of  the  In  I  visible ;  |  |  even  from  |  out  thy  |  slime  | 

A       .-.  .-.  .•-  A   .-.    .-.  A     .-.  A   .-.  .-.  A  .-.  A     .-.    • 

•f  The  I  monsters  of  the  |  deep  |  •^  are  |  made :  |  |  each  | 

A  .-.  A         •■■  .••       ••.  A  .-.         A         .-.  A     .-.  A     .-.         A  .-. 

zone  I 

A    ••■ 

•7  O  I  beys  thee;  |  |  thou  |  goest  |  forth,  |  dread,  |  fathom- 

A     •■•  A  .-.  A     .■.'        A     .-.  A     .-.  A  ••.  A     •••  A 

less,  I  7  '^  I  lo'ie.  I  I  I  — Byron^ 


Selections  for  Illu^lration.  283 


Without  God  in  the  World. 

«7  The  ex  |  elusion  |  "^  of  a  Su  |  preme  |  Being,  |  ^  and  of 
a  I  superin  |  tending  |  providence,  |       |  tends  di  |  rectly  |  •^  to 
the  de  |  struction  |  "f  of  |  moral  |  taste.  |     |     1  •^  It  ]  robs  the  | 
universe  \  ^   of  |  all  |  finished  |  *^  and  con  |  summate  |  ex- 
cellence, I     I  even  in  i  |  dea.  |     |     |  •f  The  |  admi  |  ration  of  | 
perfect  |  wisdom    and  |  goodness  |  •^   for  |  which   we    are  | 
formed,  |  •f   and   which  |  kindles  |  ^  such   un  |  speakable  | 
rapture  |  •^  in  the  |  soul,  |      |  finding  in  the  |  regions  of  |  scepti- 
cism I  nothing  |  "^   to  |  which    it    corres  |  ponds,  |   droops  |  Qf 
and  I  languishes.  |      |      |  "^  In  a    |  world  |  ^  which  pre  |  sents 
a  I  fair  |  spectacle  |  •*  of  |  order  and  |  beauty,  |  •y  of  a  |  vast  | 
family,  |       |  nourished  |  •^  and  sup  |  ported  [  "^  by  an  Al-  | 
mighty  [  Parent;  |     |  •y  in  a  |  world,  |  "^  which  |  leads  the  de-  | 
vout  I  mind,  |  step    by  |  step,  |  ^  to  the  |  contem  |  plation  | 
•7  of  the  I  first  |  fair  |  «f  and  the  |  first  |  good,  |      |  •^  the  |  scep- 
tic I  "f  is  en  I  compassed  with  |  nothing  |  •^  but  ob  |  scurity,  | 
meanness,  |  •^  and  dis  |  order.  |      |      | 

When  we  re  |  fleet  on  the  |  manner  |  «y  in  |  which  the  i-  | 
dea  of  I  Deity  |  •f  is  |  formed,  |    |  ^^  we  ]  must  be  con  |  vinced,  | 
•7  that  I  such  an  i  |  dea,  |  intimately  |  present  to  the  |  mind,  | 
must  I  have  a  most  |  powerful  ef  |  feet  |  •^  in  re  |  fining  the  | 
moral  |  taste.  |       |       |  «y   Com  |  posed  of  the  |   richest  |  ele- 
ments, I  •*  it  em  I  braces,  |  •^  in  the  |  character  |  "^  of  a  be  | 
neficent  |  Parent,  |  *^  and  Al  |  mighty  |  Ruler,  |  ^   what  |  ever 
is  I  venerable  |  ^^  in  |  wisdom,  |      |  *7  what  |  ever  is  |  awful  |  •y 
in  au  I  thority,  |        |  "f  what  |  ever  is  |  touching  |  "^  in  |  good- 
ness. I      I      I 

Human  |  excellence  |  ®f  is  |  blended  with  |  many  ]  imper-  | 
fections,  |  •f  and  |  seen  under  |  many  limi  ]  tations.  |      |      |  It 
is  be  I  held  |  only  in  de  |  taehed  and  [  separate  |  portions,  |  ^ 
nor  I  ever  ap  |  pears  |  "^  in  |  any  |  one  |  character,  |      |  whole 
and  en  |  tire.  |     |     |  So  that,  |  when,  |  •^  in  imi  |  tation  of  the  | 
stoics,  I  •*  we  I  wish  to  |  form  |  •^  out  of  |  these  |  fragments,  | 
«y  the  I  notion  |  •^   of  a  |  perfectly  |  wise   and  |  good  |  man,  | 
•f   we  I  know    it    is    a  |  mere  |  fiction  |  °f    of   the  |  mind,  (   •y 
with  I  out  any  |  real  |  being  |  ^  in  |  whom  |  •y  it  is  em  |  bodied  | 


284         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

•?  and  I  realized.  |  |  \^  \r\.  the  |  be  |  lief  of  a  |  Deity,  | 
these  con  |  ceptions  |  •^  are  re  |  duced  to  re  |  ality:  |  |  "f 
the  I  scattered  |  rays  |  •^ofani  |  deal  |  excellence  |  •y  are  con-  | 
centrated,  |  |  ^  and  be  |  cometh  |  real  |  attributes  |  •*  of  | 
that  I  Being,  |  •^  with  |  whom  |  •^  we  |  stand  in  the  |  nearest 
re  I  lation,  |  ^  who  |  sits  su  |  preme  |  ^  at  the  |  head  of  the  | 
universe,  |  •?  is  |  armed  with  |  infinite  |  power,  |  «f  and  per-  | 
vades  |  all  |  nature  |  *^  with  his  |  presence.  |      |      | 

•f  The  I  efficacy  of  |  these  |  sentiments  |  •^  in  pro  |  ducing  | 
•f  andaug  |  menting  |  "^  a  |  virtuous  |  taste,  |  *^  will  in  |  deed  | 
^  be  pro  I  portioned  |  *>.   to    the  |   vividness  |  ^    with  |  which 
they    are  |  formed,  |  •*    and    the  |  frequency  |  ^   with  |  which 
they    re  |  cur;  |      |  ^  yet  |  some  |  benefit  |  •^  will   not  |  fail  to 
re  I  suit  from  them,  |      |  even  in  their  |  lowest  de  |  gree.  |    |    | 

•f  The   i  I  dea  |  •?  of  the   Su  |  preme  |  Being  |  •^   has  |  this 
pe  I  culiar  |  property ;  |      |  "^  that  |  as  it  ad  |  mits  of  |  no  |  sub- 
stitute, I  so,  I  ^7  from  the  |  first  |  moment  ^  it  is  im  |  pressed,  | 
•?    it  is  I  capable  |  •^   of  con  |  tinual   growth  |  0*   and  en-  | 
largement.  |      |      |  God  |  •^  him  |  self  |  "f  is  im  |  mutable:  |    | 
•f  but  I  our  con  |  ception  |  •f  of  his  |  character  |  •^  is  con  |  tin- 
ually  I  •f  re  I  ceiving  |  fresh  ac  |  cessions;  |       |  "f  is  con  |  tin- 
ually  I  growing  |  more  ex  |  tended   and   re  |  fulgent,  |  •^  by  | 
having   trans  |  ferred    upon    it  |  new  per  |  ceptions,  |  •f   of  | 
beauty,  |  "^  and  |  goodness ;  |      |  "^  by  at  |  tracting  to  it  |  self,  | 
•*  as  a  I  centre,  |  •*    what  |  ever  |  bears  the  |  impress    of  | 
dignity,  |  order,  |  ^f    or  |  happiness.  |       |       |  "y    It  |  borrows  | 
splendour,  |  •?  from  |  all   that   is  |  fair,  |  •f  sub  |  ordinates  |  •^ 
to  it  I  self  I  all  that  is  |  great,  |  •?    and  |  sits   en  |  throned,  |  "jf 
on  the  I  riches  of  the  I  universe.  I      I      I  — Re7i.  Robert  Hall. 


I 


Chapter  IV. 
Hill's  Essay. 

As  all  things  relating  to  the  proper  expres- 
sion of  the  sentiments  and  passions  of  mankind 
claim  a  kindred  relationship,  the  dramatic  art  in  its 
highest  and  noblest  sense  is  closely  allied  to,  and, 
in  a  certain  sense,  inseparable  from,  the  art  oratori- 
cal. I  have,  therefore,  thought  it  would  be  well 
to  introduce,  with  slight  alterations,  as  an  addenda 
to  the  ideas  presented  in  this  volume  concerning  a 
study  of  the  expressive  attributes  of  spoken  lan- 
guage, Aaron  Hill's  quaint  essay  on  the  nature 
of  the  human  passions  and  their  expression  in  voice 
and  action. 

Its  contents  can  not  fail  to  throw  light  on  the 
psychological  features  of  the  study  of  elocution, 
containing,  as  they  do,  the  analysis  (and  the  en- 
forcement of  such  analysis  or  the  essential  basis  of 
all  studies  in  expression)  of  those  mental  phenom- 
ena known  as  passions,  which  have  their  outward 
manifestation  in  vocal  and  physical  signs,  —  signs  by 
which  the  soul  speaks,  as  it  were,  through  the  me- 
dium of  the  senses. 

Hill's    advice    to    the    delineator    of    the    passions 

can    not    fail,    therefore,    to    furnish    valuable    food 

(285) 


286         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

for  reflection  to  the  orator,  reader,  or  speaker,  of 
whatever  class,  as  well  as  to  the  actor,  siix:e  each 
must  obtain  from  it  a  certain  insight  into  the  spring 
of  his  emotional  nature,  and  a  stimulus  to  its 
manifestation  in  outward  expression,  —  a  matter  of 
primary  necessity  to  every  student  of  expressive 
language. 

I  think  no  more  just  and  vivid  enforcement  of 
the  necessity  of  "suiting  the  action  to  the  word, 
and  the  word  to  the  action,"  can  be  found  outside 
of  Shakespeare's  memorable  injunction  "not  to  o'er- 
step  the  modesty  of  nature," — advice  which,  for 
three  hundred  years,  has  been  looked  upon  as  the 
living  model  for  all  who  seek,  through  the  medium 
of  voice  and  action, 

"To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art, 
To  raise  the  genius  and  to  mend  the  heart." 


AN  ESSAY  ON  THE  DRAMATIC  PASSIONS,  IN  WHICH  THEY  ARE 
PROPERLY  DEFINED  AND  DESCRIBED;  WITH  APPLICA- 
TIONS OF  THE  RULES  PECULIAR  TO  EACH,  AND  SELECTED 
PASSAGES  FOR  PRACTICE.     By  Aaron  Hill.- 

"Weak  of  themselves  are  what  we  beauties  call, 
It  is  the  manner  which  gives  strength  to  all." — CJiiirchill. 

The  first  dramatic  principle  is  the  following : 
To  act    a  passion  well,   the  actor  must  never  at- 
tempt its  imitation  till   his    fancy  has    conceived  so 


'■•■Aaron   Hill  was  contemporary   with   Garrick.      This  essay  v/as 
published    1779. 


Hiir s  Essay.  287 

strong  an  image,  or  idea  of  it,  as  to  move  the 
same  impressive  springs  within  his  mind  which 
form  that  passion  when  it  is  undesigned  and  nat- 
ural. 

This  is  absolutely  necessary,  and  the  only  gen- 
eral rule.  The  practice  of  it  shall  be  laid  down 
clearly ;  and  it  will  be  found  extremely  easy  and 
delightful,  both  in  study  and  execution.  And  the 
truth  of  its  foundation  that  it  is  wholly  built  on 
nature  is  evident,  beyond  dispute,  upon  examining 
its  effects  in  this  deduction  from  their  causes. 

Fii'st,  The  imagination  must  conceive  a  strong 
idea  of  the  passion. 

Scco7idly,  But  that  idea  can  not  strongly  be  con- 
ceived without  impressing  its  own  form  upon  the 
muscles  of  the  face. 

Tliirdly,  Nor  can  the  look  be  muscularly  stamped, 
without  communicating,  instantly,  the  same  impres- 
sions to  the  muscles  of  the  body. 

Fourthly,  The  muscles  of  the  body  (braced  or 
slack,  as  the  idea  was  an  active  or  passive  one), 
must,  in  their  natural,  and  not-to-be-avoided  conse- 
quence, by  impelling  or  retarding  the  flow  of  the 
animal  spirits,  transmit  their  own  conceived  sensa- 
tion to  the  sound  of  the  voice  and  disposition  of 
the  gesture. 

And  this  is  a  short  abstract  of  the  art,  in  its 
most  comprehensive  and  reduced  idea.  But  there 
must  follow  applications  of  the  general  rule,  by  par- 
ticular references,  for  practical  use. 

And,  first,  it  should  be  noted  that  there  are  only 
ten  dramatic  passions;    that  is,    passions  which  can 


2  88  A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

be  distinguished  by  their  outward  marks  in  action ; 
all  others  being  relative  to,  and  but  varied  degrees 
of  the  foregoing. 

These  are  the  dramatic  passions :  Joy,  Grief,  Fear, 
Anger,  Pity,  Scorn,  Hatred,  Jealousy,  Wonder, 
Love. 

And  now,  for  application  of  the  rule  to  each  of 
these  in  its  particular  distinction,  in  which  an  actor 
will  be  fully  prepared  for  the.  expression  of  either, 
or  all,   of  the  above  passions. 


Application  I. — Of  Joy. 

Definition. — Joy  is  Pride  possessed  of  Triumph. 

It  is  a  warm  and  conscious  expansion  of  the 
heart,  indulging  a  sense  of  present  pleasure,  and 
comparing  it  with  past  affliction.  It  can  not,  there- 
fore, be  expressed  without  vivacity  in  look,  air, 
and  accent.  But  it  will  be  proper,  for  distinguish- 
ing the  modes  of  representing  this  and  every  other 
passion,  to  consider  their  effect  on  speeches,  wherein 
that  particular  passion  governs,  which  is  about  to 
be  attempted  by  the  speaker. 

And  let  it  be  the  first  and  chief  care  to  discover 
where  the  author  has  intended  any  change  of  pas- 
sions. For  unless  the  passion  is  first  known,  how 
is  it  possible  it  should  be  painted  ? 

Joy,  for  instance,  is  the  passion  in  the  following 
transport  of  Torrismond : 

"Oh,  heaven!  she  pities  me. 
And  pity,  still,  foreruns  approaching  love, 


Hiir s  Essay.  289 

As  lightning  docs  the  thunder.     Tune  your  harps, 
Ye  angels!  to  that  sound;  and  thou,  my  heart. 
Make  room — to  entertain  the  flowing  joy!" 

When  the  actor  has  discovered  that  the  passion 
in  this  place  is  joy,  he  must  not,  upon  any  ac- 
count, attempt  the  utterance  of  one  single  word 
till  he  has  first  compelled  his  fancy  to  conceive  an 
idea  of  joy,  to  suppose  that  he  is,  really,  Torris- 
mond,  —  that  he  is  in  love  with  Leonora,  and  has 
been  blessed,  beyond  his  hope,  by  her  kind  decla- 
ration in  his  favor. 

But  there  is  a  shorter  road  to  the  same  end, 
and  it  shall,  in  due  place,  be  shewn  him.  When 
he  believes  himself  possessed  of  such  an  idea  of 
joy,  that  would  not  fail  to  warm  a  strong  concep- 
tion, let  him  not  imagine  the  impression  rightly 
hit  till  he  has  examined  both  his  face  and  air  in 
a  looking-glass ;  for  there  only  will  he  meet  with 
a  sincere  and  undeceivable  test  of  his  having 
strongly  enough,  or  too  slackly,  adapted  his  fancy 
to  the  purpose  before  him. 

If,  for  example,  his  brow  appears  bent  or  cloudy, 
his  neck  bowing  and  relaxed ;  if  he  sees  his  arm 
swing  languid  or  hang  motionless,  and  the  joints 
of  his  hip,  knee,  and  ankle  not  strong  braced,  by 
swelling  out  the  sinews  to  their  full  extent ;  —  all 
or  any  of  these  spiritless  signs  in  the  glass  may 
convince  him  that  he  has  too  faintly  conceived  the 
impression  ;  and,  at  once,  to  prove  it  to  his  own 
full  satisfaction,  let  him,  at  that  time,  endeavor  to 
speak  out,  with  a  voice  as  high  raised  as  he  pleases, 
he  will  find  that,    in  that    languid  state  of  muscles, 


290         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

he  can  never  bring  it  to  sound  joy ;  no,  not  though 
the  sense  of  the  words  were  all  rapture ;  but  in 
spite  of  the  utmost  possible  strain  upon  his  lungs, 
his  tone  will  be  too  sullen  or  too  mournful,  and 
carry  none  of  the  music  of  sprightliness.  But  if, 
on  the  contrary,  he  has  hit  the  conception  exactly, 
he  will  have  the  pleasure,  in  that  case,  to  observe 
that  his  forehead  appears  raised,  his  eye  smiling 
and  sparkling,  his  neck  will  be  stretched  and  erect, 
without  stiffness,  as  if  it  would  add  new  height  to 
his  stature ;  his  chest  will  be  inflated,  and  all  the 
joints  of  his  body  will  be  high-strung  and  braced 
boldly.  And  now,  if  he  attempts  to  speak  joy, 
all  the  spirit  of  the  passion  will  ascend  in  his  ac- 
cents, and  the  very  tone  of  his  voice  will  seem  to 
out-rapture  the  meaning. 

As  to  the  reason  of  all  this,  it  is  as  clear  as  the 
consequence.  For  these  are  nature's  own  marks 
and  impressions  on  the  body,  in  cases  where  the 
passion  is  produced  by  involuntary  emotions.  And 
when  natural  impressions  are  imitated  exactly  by 
art,    the  effect  of  such  art  must  seem  natural. 

But  because  difficulties  would  arise  in  the  prac- 
tice of  so  strong  a  conception,  before  fancy  is  be- 
come ductile  enough  to  assume  such  impressions  at 
will  (as  in  the  instance  of  joy,  now  before  us),  the 
actor,  taking  the  shorter  road  above  promised  him, 
may  help  his  defective  idea  in  a  moment  by  annex- 
ing at  once  the  look  to  the  idea,  in  the  very  in- 
stant while  he  is  bracing  his  nerves  into  springiness ; 
for  so  the  image,  the  look,  and  the  muscles,  all 
concurring  at  once  to  the  purpose,  their  effect  will 


Hiir s  Essay.  291 

be  the  same  as  if  each  had  succeeded  another  pro- 
i^ressively. 

To  convince  himself  of  the  natural  truth  of  these 
principles,  he  has  nothing  to  do  but,  first,  to  speak 
the  foregoing  example  of  joy,  with  his  look  grave 
or  idle,  and.  his  nerves  eased  or  languid;  and  im- 
mediately afterwards  repeat  the  same  speech  with 
a  smile  of  delight  in  his  eye,  with  his  joints  all 
high-braced,  and  his  sinews  extended — his  own  ear 
will  become  his  acknowledped  instructor. 


Application  II. —  Of  Grief. 

Definition. — Grief  is  Disappointment  void  of  Hope. 

It  is  a  mournful  and  unstruggling  resignation  of 
defense  to  apprehension  of  calamity ;  and,  therefore, 
must  require,  to  express  it  rightly,  a  sad  look, 
careless  air,  and  voice  unraised  and  indolent. 

For  a  speech,  wherein  this  melancholy  reverse 
of  the  foregoing  passion  is  expressed  to  the  wish 
of  an  actor,  we  may  borrow  a  second  time  from  the 
same  Torrismond : 

"But,  I  have  been  in  such  a  dismal  place! 
Where  joy  ne'er  enters,  which  the  sun  ne'er  cheers, 
Bound  in  with  darkness,  overspread  with  damps, 
Where  I  have  seen  —  if  1  could  say,  I  saw — 
The  good  old  king  —  majestic  ev'n  in  bonds! 
And,  'midst  his  griefs,  most  venerably  great! 
By  a  dim,  winking  lamp,  that  feebly  broke 
The  gloomy  vapors,  he  lay  stretch'd  along. 
Upon  th'  unwholesome  ground,  his  eyes  cast  low ; 
And,  ever  and  anon,  a  silent  tear 
Stole  down,  and  trickled  from  his  aged  check." 


292         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

A  speaker,  who  would  distress  his  imagination 
into  a  complete  assumption  of  the  sorrow  expressed 
in  these  lines,  will  first  consider  that  grief,  being 
a  passion  the  most  opposite  in  nature  to  joy,  his 
look  that  was  before  enlivened,  must  now,  in  a 
moment,  take  a  mournful  and  declined  impression. 
His  muscles  must  fall  loose  and  be  embraced  into 
the  habit  of  languor.  And  then,  no  sooner  shall 
his  nerves  have  formed  themselves  to  this  lax  dis- 
position for  complying  with  the  melancholy  demand 
of  the  sentiments,  than  his  voice  also  will  associate 
its  sound  to  the  plaintive  resignation  of  his  gesture, 
and  the  result,  both  in  air  and  accent,  will  be  the 
most  moving  resemblance  of  a  heartfelt  and  pas- 
sionate sorrow.  Whereas,  let  him  endeavor,  with 
all  possible  industry,  so  to  sadden  his  voice,  with- 
out a  previous  accommodation  of  his  look  and  his 
sinews  to  the  faintness  of  the  image  intended,  his 
tone  will  be  hard,  austere,  and  unfeeling,  and 
more  and  more  remote  from  the  true  sound  of  dis- 
tress, in  exact  proportion  to  the  spring  he  had 
retained  on  his  nerves,  and  the  vigor  that  had 
overanimated  his  eye,  or  too  ardently  quickened 
his  gesture. 

Application  III. —  Of  Fear. 

Definition. — Fear  is  Grief,  discerning  and  avoiding  Danger. 

It  is  an  apprehensive  but  unsinewed  struggle  be- 
twixt caution  and  despair.  It  can  not,  therefore, 
be  expressed  but  by  a  look  alarmed  and  watchful, 
with  a  voice  and  air  unanimated. 


Hiir s  Essay.  293 

Take,  for  example  of  this  passion,  the  following 
short  speech  from  Clarence,  in  Shakespeare's  Rich- 
ard the  Third : 

"Oh,  I  have  passed  a  miserable  night! 
So  full  of  fearful  dreams!    of  ugly  sights! 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  faithful  man, 
I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night, 
Tho'  'twere  to  buy  a,  world  of  happy  days! 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time!" 

Here  an  actor,  who  would  impress  his  imagina- 
tion with  a  natural  idea  of  fear,  will  most  effectu- 
ally represent  it  by  assuming  the  same  languor  in 
look  and  in  muscles,  that  was  just  here  described 
as  peculiar  to  grief  For  then,  if  he  would  strike 
out,  in  an  instant,  the  distinction  by  which  fear  is 
diversified  from  sorrow,  let  him  only,  in  place  of 
that  resigned,  plaintive,  passive  distress  that  is 
proper  to  grief,  add  (without  altering  the  relaxed 
state  of  his  nerves)  a  starting,  apprehensive,  and 
listening  alarm  to  his  look,  keeping  his  eyes  widely 
stretched,  but  unfixed ;  his  mouth  still,  open ;  his 
steps  light  and  shifting,  —  yet,  his  joints  unbraced, 
faint,  nerveless.  And  then  will  his  whole  air  ex- 
press the  true  picture  of  fear,  and  his  voice,  too, 
sound  it  significantly. 

But  still,  this  caution  let  the  actor  take  care  to 
remember,  —  that  he  is  not  to  begin  to  utter  a  sin- 
gle word  till  he  has  first  reflected  on  and  felt  the 
idea,  and  then  adapted  his  look,  and  his  nerves  to 
express  it.  But  as  soon  as  this  pathetic  sensation 
has  strongly  and  fully  imprinted  his  fancy,  let  him 
then,   and    not  before,   attempt  to   give  the    speech 


294         ^  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

due  utterance.  So  shall  he  always  hit  the  right 
and  touching  sensibility  of  tone,  and  move  his  audi- 
tors impressingly ;  whereas,  should  he,  with  unfeel- 
ing volubility,  hurry  on  from  one  overleaped  dis- 
tinction to  another,  without  due  adaptation  of  his 
look  and  muscles  to  the  meaning  proper  to  the 
passion,  he  will  never  speak  to  hearts,  nor  move 
himself  nor  any  of  his  audience,  beyond  the  simple 
and  unanimating  verbal  sense,  without  the  spirit  of 
the  writer. 

Besides  the  reputation  of  a  fine  and  pathetic 
speaker,  and  a  feeler  and  inspirer  of  the  passions, 
he  will  derive  another  benefit  and  grace  from  such 
a  natural  practice ;  for  the  time  which  it  must  nec- 
essarily take,  so  to  conform  his  look  and  nerves  to 
the  successive  changes  of  the  passions,  will  preserve 
his  voice  at  ei^eiy  turn,  by  giving  it  due  rests;  allow- 
ing frequent  and  repeated  opportunities  for  a  recoveiy 
of  its  zvasted  strength,  in  easy  and  unnoted  breatJdngs. 
And  yet,  all  such  beautiful  and  pensive  pausing 
places  will,  at  the  same  time,  appear  to  an  audi- 
ence but  the  strong  and  natural  attitudes  of  think- 
ing, and  the  inward  agitations  of  a  heart  that  is, 
in  truth,  disturbed  and  shaken.  Whereas,  the  glib, 
round,  rolling  emptiness  of  an  unpausing  insignifi- 
cance in  speaking  (far  from  painting  or  resembling 
nature),  represents  no  image  at  all  to  a  discerning 
audience,  but  that  of  a  player  pouring  out  his 
words,  without  meaning,  in  a  voice  that  neither 
touches,    nor  is  touched  by,   nature. 


Hiirs  Essay.  295 


Application  IV. —  Of  Anger. 

Definition.— Anger  is  Pride  provoked  beyond  regard  of  Caution. 

It  is  a  fierce  and  unrestrained  effusion  of  reproach 
and  insult.  It  must,  therefore,  be  expressed  impa- 
tiently, by  a  fiery  eye,  a  disturbed  and  threatening 
air,  and  a  voice  strong,  swift,  and  often  interrupted 
by  high  swells  of  choking  indignation. 

To  explain  this  passion,  two  examples  will  be 
necessary;  the  first,  not  so  much  for  containing  the 
passion  itself,  as  a  great  actor's  rules  for  feeling 
and  expressing  it  with  nature's  spirit  and  propriety. 
And  I  do  this  justice  to  Shakespeare  with  a  double 
pleasure,  as  the  instance  carries  with  it  a  clear  evi- 
dence how  much  the  play-house,  old  tradition 
wrongs  his  memory ;  for  they  report  him  a  per- 
former of  no  power  or  compass,  and  but  of  low 
rate  in  his  profession  as  to  action. 

The  second  speech  shall  be  for  an  example  of 
the  passion,  with  an  explanation  of  two  different 
modes,  whereby  nature  has  distinguished  its  ex- 
pression. 

Shakespeare's  comes  first,  and  is,  at  once,  a  rule 
and  example : 

"Now  imitate  the  action  of  a  tiger; 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood; 
Lend  fierce  and  dreadful  aspect  to  the  eye: 
Set  the  teeth  close,  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide, 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  its  full  height." 

It   were    impossible    to   draw  a    picture   of  anger 


296         A  Plea  fo7^  Spoken  Lajiguage. 

more    naturally,   or    aji    instruction    more    complete 
and  clear  for  expressing  it. 

First,  The  sinews  being  braced  strong  through 
all  the  joints  of  the  body,  the  blood  (as  a  conse- 
quence unavoidable)  is  summoned  up,  that  is,  im- 
pelled into  violent  motion. 

Secondly,  The  look  becomes  adapted,  and  adds 
fierceness,  to  the  passion  by  the  fire  that  flashes 
from  the  eye. 

Thirdly,  The  setting  of  the  teeth  and  wide  ex- 
pansion of  the  nostrils,  follow  naturally,  because  in- 
separable from  an  enraged  bent  of  the  eyebrow. 

And,  fourthly,  The  breath  being  held  hard,  is  in- 
terrupted or  restrained  by  the  tumultuous  precipi- 
tation of  the  spirits,  they  must  necessarily  become 
inflamed  themselves,  and  will  communicate  their  ar- 
dor to  the  voice  and  motion.  And  thus,  this  pas- 
sion of  anger  is  bent  up  to  its  full  height,  as  Shakes- 
peare, with  allusion  to  the  spring  upon  the  sinews, 
hath  expressed  it. 

I  explain  this  passage  to  demonstrate  his  great 
skill  in  acting;  and  in  hopes  the  players'  observa- 
tion that  this  favorite  genius  of  their  own  profession 
had  ideas  of  the  art  (so  plainly  founded  on  the  very 
principles  sustained  in  this  essay),  will  recommend 
it  with  more  weight  from  the  partiality  of  their  af- 
fection. 

But  to  return.  It  here  deserves  reflection  by  how 
very  small  a  separation  nature  has  disjoined  the  out- 
lines of  two  passions,  seemingly  the  least  conform- 
able to  one  another.  Few  would  imagine  that  the 
lineaments   of  joy   and   anger  should  unite    in    any 


Hill's  Essay.  297 

point  of  strong  resemblance !  And  yet  it  is  evident 
they  only  differ  in  a  change  of  look.  For,  as  to  the 
intensely  bracing  up  the  nerves,  that  is  the  same, 
exactly,  in  both  passions,  and  the  sole  distinction 
lies  in  this: — a  smile  upon  the  eye,  in  bodies 
strongly-braced,  compels  the  voice  to  sound  of 
joy,  —  while  frowns,  in  the  same  eye  (without  the 
smallest  alteration  of  muscles),  immediately  trans- 
form the  gay  sound  to  a  dreadful  one. 

The  second  speech,  which  will  be  necessary  to 
explain  the  natural  difference  above  declared,  re- 
lating to  two  modes  of  anger,  may  be  taken  from 
the  Orphan,  and  it  is  Chamont  who  speaks : 

"I  say  my  sister's  wrong 'd; 
Monimia — my  sister;  born  as  high, 
And  noble  as  Castalio.     Do  her  justice, 
Or,  by  the  gods!  I'll  lay  a  scene  of  blood, 
Shall  make  this  dwelling  horrible  to  nature; 
I'll  do  it !  *  Hark  you,  my  lord! 

your  son — Castalio  — 

Take  him  to  your  closet,  and  there,  teach  him  manners." 

Though  the  passion,  throughout  all  this  speech, 
is  furious  and  intemperate  anger,  yet  nature  has 
divided  it  into  two  such  different  tones  of  utterance 
that,  though  it  would  be  impropriety  to  a  degree 
of  folly  to  pronounce  that  part  foregoing  the  star 
in  the  sixth  line  any  other  way  than  with  a  fierce, 
vindictive  air,  and  voice  high  raised,  insulting, 
and  impatient,  the  remainder  (from  that  star) 
must,  on  the  contrary,  be  expressed  by  affectation 
of  a  low,  constrained,  and  almost  whispered  com- 
posure,  concealing  a   slow,   smothered,   inward  ran- 


298         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

cor,  by  a  muttered,  ironical  repression  of  the  voice, 
strained  through  the  teeth,  in  a  pretended  restraint 
of  indignation.  And  when,  from  such  rehefs,  as  it 
were,  of  passion,  the  rage  breaks  out  again  into 
shrill  and  exclamatory  loudness,  the  representation 
becomes  movingly  varied  and  natural ;  and  the  voice 
seems  to  preserve  a  kind  of  musical  modulation 
even  in  madness. 


Application  V. — Of  Pity. 

Definition. — Pity  is  active  Giief  for  another's  Affliction. 

It  is  a  social  sadness  of  heart,  propelled  by  an 
auxiliary  disposition  of  the  spirits  giving  tension 
to  impressed  and  straining  muscles.  It  can  not, 
therefore,  be  expressed  but  by  a  look  of  sorrow, 
with  a  braced  and  animated  gesture. 

Take  the  following  example,  from  Belmour,  in 
Fatal  Extravagance : 

"Oh!  could  I  feel  no  misery  but  my  own, 
How  easy  were  it  for  this  sword  to  free  me 
From  every  anguish  that  embitters  life! 
But,  when  the  grave  has  given  my  sorrows  rest, 
Where  shall  my  miserable  wife  find  comfort  ? 
Unfriended  and  alone,  in  want's  bleak  storm, 
Not  all  th'  angelic  virtues  of  her  mind  . 
Will  shield  her  from  th'  unpitying  world's  derision. 
Can  it  be  kind  to  leave  her  so  exposed?" 

If  an  actor  should  endeavor  to  touch  the  expres- 
siveness of  the  passion  conceived  in  this  speech, 
without  having  previously  adapted  his  look  to  the 
sensation  peculiar  to  pity,  he  would  never  (though 


Hiir s  Essay.  299 

his  voice  were  the  finest  and  most  musical  in  nat- 
ure) be  able  to  succeed  in  his  purpose ;  for,  his 
tone  would  be  sometimes  too  earnest  and  sharp, 
and  sometimes  too  languid  and  melancholy.  But 
let  him,  first,  strain  his  muscles  into  the  tension 
above  required  for  expression  of  joy,  and  if  then 
he  adds  the  look  that  is  proper  to  grief,  the  result 
of  this  mixed  co-operation  of  contraries  (of  a  vis- 
age peculiar  to  sorrow,  with  a  spring  on  the  mus- 
cles adapted  to  joy)  will  immediately  produce  the 
gesture,  the  voice,  and  the  feeling  expression  of 
pity.  And  the  more  strongly  he  braces  his  nerves 
in  opposition  to  the  distress  that  relaxes  his  look, 
the  more  beautifully  will  he  touch  the  concern,  till 
his  utterance  paints  it,  as  one  may  say,  to  the  ear. 
For,  by  effect  of  a  struggle  that  will  be  formed  in 
his  mind  between  the  grief  that  has  softened  his  eye 
and  the  force  that  invigorates  his  muscles,  there 
will  arise  a  pathetic  and  trembling  interruptedness 
of  sensible  sound  that  must  affect  a  whole  audi- 
ence,  with  a  participated  concern  in  the  passion. 


Application  VI. — Of  Scorn. 

Definition. — Scorn  is  negligent  Anger. 

That  is,  anger  against  objects,  which  excite  no 
esteem.  It  is,  therefore,  unbraced  into  easiness. 
See  an  example  in  the  following  answer  of  Bajazet 
to  Axalla's  declaration,   from  Tamerlane : 

"Bear  back  thy  fulsome  greeting  to  thy  master; 
Tell  him,  I  '11  none  on 't.  .  .  .  . 


300         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

*"Had  he  been  a  god, 
All  his  omnipotence  could  not  restore 
The  radiancy  of  majesty  eclipsed.* 
For  aught  besides,  it  is  not  worth  my  care : 
The  giver  and  his  gifts  are  both- despised!" 

In  this  speech,  the  beginning  and  the  end  con- 
tain manifest  scorn.  But  in  the  middle  part,  which 
is,  therefore,  distinguished  between  the  stars,  the 
passion  rises  into  nervous  and  exclamatory  violence. 
All  the  rest,  to  be  rightly  expressed  in  the  acting, 
will  require  the  seeming  contrast  of  an  unsinewy 
slackness  of  muscles  to  a  look  that  flames  with  an- 
ger and  insult. 

There  is,  however,  (and  a  skillful  actor  will  al- 
ways remember  to  note  it,)  a  gayer  and  very  dif- 
ferent species  of  scorn,  on  less  solemn  occasions, 
where  the  lowness  of  figure,  or  of  power,  in  some 
slight,  insignificant  subject,  or  the  unalarming  im- 
pertinence of  some  vain,  but  not  dangerous,  levity, 
only  calls  for  contempt,  unconnected  with  anger. 
And  this  lighter  expression  of  scorn  will  be  hit 
most  effectually  by  preserving  the  same  disposition 
of  muscles  that  was  required  in  the  other,  but  ac- 
companied by  a  look  that  is  smiling  and  placid, 
instead  of  the  frown  that  took  place  in  the  former. 


Application  VII. — Of  Hatred. 

Definition.— Hatred  is  restrained   yet  lasting  Anger. 

It  is  a  close,  abhorrent,  hostile  disposition  of  the 
heart,   averted    by   ill-will,   but  guarded    by  precau- 


Hiirs  Essay.  301 

tion.     To  express  it  rightly,  it  demands  a  look  of 
malice,    with  a  gesture  of  restrained  impatience. 

Bajazet  will  give  example  in  another  speech,  con- 
cerning Tamerlane : 

"The  Tartar  is  my  bane  —  I  can  not  bear  him, 
One  heaven  and  earth  can  never  hold  us  both. 
Still  shall  we  hate,  and,  with  defiance  deadly. 
Keep  rage  alive — till  one  be  lost,  forever. 
As  if  two  suns  should  meet  in  the  meridian. 
And  strive,  in  fiery  combat,  for  the  passage." 

Unless  an  actor  has  accustomed  his  reflection  to 
examine  distinctions  in  passion,  he  will  be  sur- 
prised to  be  told  in  this  place  that  there  is  no 
other  difference  but  the  turn  of  an  eye  in  the  ex- 
pression of  hatred  and  pity.  Yet  his  experience 
will  find  it  a  palpable  truth.  For,  first,  pity  and 
hatred,  both  of  them  require  the  same  intense 
brace  upon  the  joints  and  sinews ;  and  then  the 
characterizing  distinction  between  them  is  this  (I 
mean  only  what  regards  their  expression,  that  is, 
the  outward  marks  they  impress  on  the  body) : 
pity,  by  a  look  of  inclination,  implies  affection  and 
desire  to  relieve ;  whereas,  hatred,  by  averting  the 
visage,  and  accompanying  that  look  of  abhorrence 
with  gestures  of  malice  and  disapprobation,  pro- 
claims animosity  and  purpose  of  mischief  The 
nerves  must  be  braced  in  both  passions  alike,  be- 
cause pity  is  earnest  and  hatred  is  earnest,  and 
therefore,  the  muscles,  to  express  either  passion 
(however  opposite  they  may  seem  to  each  other), 
must  be  springy,  and  bent  into  promptitude. 

But  the  look    must  be  different  in  each,    because 


302  A  Plea  fo?"  Spoken  Language. 

pity  is  earnest  for  beneficence  ;  and  therefore,  the 
eye  (which  is  the  show-glass  of  the  soul)  must  be 
impressed  with  ideas  of  goodness,  whereas  hatred  is 
earnest  for  mischief,  and  the  eye  must,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  malignant  intent  in  the  will,  reflect  an 
image  of  meditated  evil. 


Application  VIII. — Of  Jealousy. 

Definition. — Jealousy  is  doubtful  Anger  struggling  against    Faith  and  Pity. 

It  is  a  painful  softness  in  the  heart,  resisted  by 
a  vindictive  disposition  in  the  spirits.  It  can  not, 
therefore,  be  expressed  without  a  doubtful  variation, 
both  in  look  and  air,  divided  and  suspended  be- 
twixt wavering  passions. 

But  there  are  two  degrees  of  jealousy,  and  they 
require  different  modes  for  their  expression.  So 
that  two  examples  will  be  necessary,  and  Othello 
will  supply  us  with  them  both. 

We  shall  see  in  this  that  follows  that  first  stage 
of  jealousy,  which  is  alarmed,  but  doubtfully  sus- 
picious, and  not  yet  confirmed  into  the  violence  of 
positive  belief  and  its  warm  consequences : 

"By  heaven,  he  echoes  me! 
As  if  there  were  some  monster  in  his  thought 
Too  hideous  to  be  shown! — Thou  dost  mean  something — 
I  heard  thee  say  even  now,  thou  likedst  not  that, 
When  Cassio  left  my  wife,— What  didst  not  like? 
And  when  I  told  thee  he  was  of  my  counsel 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  thou  criedst  'Indeed!' 
And  didst  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together 

If  thou  dost  love  me, 
Show  me  thy  thought." 


Hiir s  Essay.  303 

For  expressing,  in  a  natural  manner,  these  un- 
fixed, apprehensive,  rehictant  first  dawnings  of 
jealousy,  the  brace  upon  the  nerves  must  be  but 
conformable  to  the  unsettled  idea.  It  must  be  half 
bent  and  half  languid.  The  look,  too,  under  the 
same  inconclusive  alarm,  must  act  its  part  with  the 
indolent  muscles ;  that  is,  it  must  partake  of  two 
opposite  passions,  —  anger,  as  disposed  to  catch 
flame,  under  sense  of  such  injury ;  and  pity,  as 
unwilling  to  give  way  to  distrust  against  an  object 
so  endeared  by  affection. 

The  other  species,  or  rather  degree  of  this  pas- 
sion, is  where  jealousy  extracts  confirmation  from 
appearances,    which  concur  towards  a  proof. 

In  this  case,  the  nerves  must  assume  the  strong 
brace  that  is  proper  to  anger ;  and  the  look  must 
express  a  turbulent  mixture  of  anguish  from  a  strug- 
gle between  fury   and  sorrow.       See  Othello  again : 

"I  think  my  wife  be  honest  —  and  think  she  is  not! 
I  think  that  thou  art  just,  and  think  thou  art  not! 
I  '11  have  some  proof.     Her  name  that  was  as  fresh 
As  Dian's  visage,  is  now  begrimed  and  black 
As  mine  own  face!     If  there  be  cords  or  knives, 
Poison  or  fire,  or  suffocating  streams, 
I'll  not  endure  it.     Would  I  were  satisfied!" 

We  see  in  this  speech  doubt  inflamed  into  agony. 
It  is  still,  indeed,  distrust ;  but  it  is,  at  the  same 
titne,  indignation  and  bitterness.  And  this  is  the 
utmost  pitch  whereto  jealousy  (as  jealousy)  can  by 
nature  extend  itself.  For  the  least  step  beyond  it 
is  anger,  which,  unless  mixed  with  and  restrained 
by    some    tempering   conceit  of   uncertainty,    is    no 


304         A  Plea  for  SpoJzni  Language. 

longer  the  jealousy  we  are  considering,  but  a  dis- 
tinct and  new  passion,  the  effect,  it  is  true,  of  the 
former,  yet  itself  quite  of  a  different  species.  So 
that  jealousy  can  be  divided  no  farther  than  into 
the  two  foregoing  distinctions. 


Application  IX. — Of  Wonder. 

Definition. — Wonder  is  inquisitive  Fear. 

It  is  an  ebb  of  spirits  rushing  back  upon  the 
heart,  but  leaving  an  alarm  upon  the  muscles  that 
invigorates  them  towards  defense  and  opposition. 
No  actor  can  imitate  this  passion  with  its  natural 
propriety  and  force  without  dividing  its  idea  into  the 
two  following  degrees  of  distinction  : 

The  first  degree  is  amazement  —  the  second  is  as- 
tonishment. In  amazement,  the  conception  catching 
alarm  from  the  image  of  something  strangely  or  un- 
naturally terrible,  the  nerves,  upon  a  start  of  ap- 
prehension, brace  at  once  into  an  involuntary  rigor 
of  intenseness,  under  a  defensive  disposition  of  the 
will,    that  would  resist  and  repel  the  object. 

But,  in  astonishment,  the  recoil  of  the  animal 
spirits,  hurried  back  in  too  precipitate  a  motion, 
drives  the  blood  upon  the  heart  with  such  oppres- 
sive redundance,  as  retarding  circulation,  almost 
stagnates  the  vital  progression  ;  and,  arresting  the 
breath,  eyes,  gesture,  and  every  power  and  faculty 
of  the  body,  occasions  such  an  interruption  of  their 
several  uses  as  would  bring  on  an  actual  cessation ; 
but  that  the  reason,  struggling  slowly  to  relieve  the 


Hill's  Essay.  305 

apprehension,  gives  a  kind  of  hesitative  articulation 
to  the  utterance,  and  a  gradual  motion  and  recovery 
to  the  look,   the  limbs,  and  the  countenance. 

In  the  following  lines  from  Hamlet,  we  shall  see 
an  instance  of  the  first  degree  of  wonder,  while  it 
reaches  only  to  amazement,  and  suspends,  not  stag- 
nates, the  free  motion  of  the  blood  and  spirits : 

"O  day,  and  night! — but  this  is  wondrous  strange! 

and,  again : 

"Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us! 
Be  thou  a  spirit  of  heahh — or  gobhn  damn'd, 
Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven  or  blasts  from  hell, 
Be  thy  intents  wicked  or  charitable, 
Thou  com'st  in  such  a  questionable  shape 
That  I  will  speak  to  thee!" 

There  is  manifest,  in  the  beginning  of  this  speech, 
the  starting  spring  upon  the  nerves  that  follows  the 
first  shock  of  apprehension. 

In  the  middle  is  discerned,  as  plainly,  the  slow, 
strug-orlincr  reasonin"'  recollection  of  the  shaken  un- 
derstanding ;  and  in  the  two  concluding  lines,  the 
resolution  of  recovered  firmness  to  examine  and  de- 
termine steadfastly. 

But  in  examples  where  the  passion  rises  to  aston- 
ishment, as  in  this  below,  from  Belmour,  see  an 
almost  total  deprivation,  for  the  time,  of  all  the 
powers  of  sense  and  motion,  except  only  that  ex- 
erted reason,  laboring  against  oppressive  congela- 
tion, barely  seems  to  hold  breath  in  by  force,  and 
make  life  sensible : 

p.  S.  L.-26. 


3o6  A  Plea  foi"  Spoken  Language. 

"  I  feel  my  blood 
Cool  and  grow  thick ;  as  melted  lead  flows  heavy, 
And  hardens  in  its  motion.     A  little  longer, 
And  I,  who  have  heart  already  marble  — 
Shall  petrify  throughout  —  and  be — a  statue." 

It  would  be  impossible,  after  an  actor  had  con- 
ceived an  idea  correspondent  to  the  picture  in  the 
words  in  this,  not  to  impress  every  Hneament  of  the 
passion  upon  his  look,  and  every  attitude  of  it  upon 
his  gesture ;  and  then,  the  tone  of  his  voice,  con- 
curring, can  not  fail  to  sound  the  slow,  conflicting 
struggle  of  astonishment. 


Application  X. — Of  Love. 

Definition. — Love  is  Desire  kept  temperate  by  Reverence. 

It  is  expanded  softness  in  the  heart,  indulged 
attachment  in  the  fancy,  and  an  awe  (from  fear  to 
be  distasteful  where  we  wish  to  please),  upon  the 
spirits.  It  can  never,  therefore,  rightly  be  ex- 
pressed without  a  look  of  apprehensive  tenderness, 
that  softens  a  high-braced  and  animated  air  and 
casts  a  modest  cloud  of  diffidence  over  too  quick  a 
sense  of  transport.  And  thus  we  are  come,  at  last, 
to  a  passion  the  true  name  whereof  might  be  legion  ; 
for  it  includes  all  the  other,  in  all  their  degrees 
and  varieties.  It  has,  therefore,  been  postponed, 
and  kept  to  bring  up  the  rear ;  though,  from  the 
weight  and  extent  of  its  influence,  it  ought  to 
have  taken  place  in  the  front  of  the  number. 

There    is,   however,   independent  of  its   auxiliary 


Hiir s  Essay.  307 

and  occasional  passions,  a  distinct  air  and  gesture, 
look,  and  manner  of  speaking  peculiar  to  love,  in 
its  serene  and  unruffled  impressiveness.  And  be- 
cause there  are  not  many  actors  in  whom  nature 
has  done  all  that  appears  necessary  for  expressing 
the  gentleness  and  the  softness,  together  with  the 
freedom  and  the  fire,  which  unite  their  contraries, 
of  setting  off  the  spirit  of  this  passion,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  reflect  a  little  on  the  reason  why  it  is  com- 
mon to  see  love  unfeelingly,  affectedly,  and  even 
ridiculously  acted. 

The  lazy  cause  is  want  of  tenderness,  or  at  least 
of  application,  to  conceive  the  true  idea.  For  this 
passion,  more  than  any  other,  lends  a  tongue  to 
every  look,  and  sheds  an  eloquence  on  every  mo- 
tion. It  can  not  bear,  then,  a  cold,  formal  empti- 
ness ;  a  big,  broad,  mellow  troll  of  smooth,  unani- 
mated  wordiness.  It  asks  for  soul  in  thought,  air, 
movement.  It  exacts  such  strict  confederacy  be- 
tween the  heart,  the  mien,  the  eye,  and  tongue, 
that  it  disdains  to  pardon  a  bold,  voluble,  and 
lecture-like  (however  musical  and  sounding)  insig- 
nificancy. The  idea,  then,  to  be  conceived  by  one 
who  would  express  love  elegantly  is  that  of  joy 
combined  with  fear.  It  is  a  conscious  and  trium- 
phant swell  of  hope,  intimidated  by  respectful  ap- 
prehension of  offending  Avhere  we  long  to  seem 
agreeable.  It  is  the  exhalation  of  a  soft  desire, 
which  to  the  warmth  inspired  by  wishes,  joins  the 
modesty  of  a  submissive  doubtfulness. 

It    is    complaint    made    amiable    by    gracefulness, 
reproach     endeared     by     tenderness,     and     rapture 


3o8  A  Plea  foj'-  Spoken  Langttage. 

awed  by  reverence.  Without  a  previous  fixed  idea 
of  the  passion,  in  this  native  Hght,  the  finest  of  all 
human  voices  would  in  vain  attempt  to  touch  it 
tenderly.  And  this  might  be  immediately  found 
evident  to  the  attentive  actor's  ear,  in  making  trial 
on  some  speech,  like  this  of  Edgar,  in  the  Tragedy 
of  Athelwold: 

"Why  have  those  piercing  eyes  so  ill  distinguish'd 
The  reverence  of  my  ardor?     License  and  Freedom 
Would,  in  your  presence,  be  dissolv'd  to  awe, 
And  flow  in  sighs  to  soften  you.     This  hand! 
Oh!  give  it  me  —  and  I  will  swear  upon  it 
That  my  charm'd  spirits  never  rose,  till  now, 
In  such  a  tide  of  ecstasy! — that  heaven 
Has  left  your  sex  in  shade  to  light  up  you 
With  every  grace  that  swells  desire  in  mortals, 
Or  gives  your  guardian  angel  pride  to  view  you!" 

Here,  if  the  nerves  are  braced  with  proper 
warmth  to  the  high  pitch  of  joy,  and  the  inclin- 
ing look  divided  gracefully  betwixt  a  tender  fear 
and  a  triumphant  pleasure,  every  accent  will  con- 
fess the  passion  in  a  soft,  impressive  touchingness. 
Whereas,  without  such  previous  disposition  for  at- 
taining the  idea,  the  vague,  undirected  tone  would 
sometimes  sound  too  faint,  sometimes  too  harsh ; 
and  always    insincere,    declamatory,   and  unstriking. 

I  have  done  with  the  application  of  the  general 
principle  to  particular  examples  of  the  passions. 

I  proceed  to  a  justification  of  the  mechanism  in 
the  rules  foregoing  by  demonstrating  its  foundation 
on  clear,    natural  causes. 

I  will   only   interpose   a   short  digression  for  dis- 


Hill' s  Essay.  309 

coverinsj  the  reason  why  it  is  so  rare  to  see  an 
actor  elegantly  qualified  to  represent  a  love  part. 
I  said  before,  and  shall  produce  the  proof  immedi- 
ately, that  love  includes,  occasionally,  all  other 
passions. 

He,  then,  who  is  not  master  of  a  power  to  rep- 
resent them  all  in  the  distinct  propriety  of  each, 
must,  of  necessity  (so  far  as  his  defect  in  any  one 
of  them  extends),  be  found  an  incomplete  and  dis- 
approved sustainer  of  a  lover's  character. 

And  that  every  other  of  the  passions  hitherto 
described  occurs,  occasionally,  in  that  comprehen- 
sive one  of  love,  see  proofs  in  these  plain  instances : 

An  Example  of  Joy  in  Love.    . 

Thou  art  a  cold  describer ! — oh,  the  day! 

The  dear  remember'd  day!  when,  at  the  altar, 

Where,  in  thanksgiving,  I  had  bow'd  to  heaven, 

Heaven  seem'd  descending  on  me — my  rais'd  eye 

Met  her  flash'd  charms  amidst  a  gazing  crowd, 

Who,  from  the  scaffolded  cathedral's  sides, 

Poured  their  bold  looks  upon  me.     Greatness  and  languor 

Flow'd  in  a  soften'd  radiance  from  her  mien. 

And  kindled  every  shrine  with  new  divinity ! 

Sweetness  sat  smiling  on  her  humid  eye-balls. 

And  light-wing'd  fancy  danc'd,  and  flam'd  about  her! 


An  Example  of  Grief  in  Love. 

Oh!  what  a  dreadful  change  in  my  poor  heart 

Has  one  weak  moment  made! — scorn'd,  like  the  vile, 

Dishonor'd,  infamous;  expell'd  forever, 

I  must  become  a  wand'rer  round  the  world; 


3 1  o         A  Plea  fo7^  Spoken  Language. 

Meet  cold  and  hunger,  poverty  and  shame, 

Anguish  and  insult — better  all,  than  man! 

The  faithless  murd'rer,  man!     What  am  I  doom'd  to! 

Whom  have  I  trusted! — oh!  revenging  heaven! 

See  my  distress,  and  punish  me  with  more. 

I  can  not  be  too  wretched.     Begone,  deceiver, 

I  would  not  curse  thee  —  1  will  not  wish  thee  pain; 

But  never,  never,  let  lUe  see  thee  more! 


An  Example  of  Fear  in  Love. 

She's  gone — and  I  am  left,  to  walk  the  world, 
Like  a  pale  shade,  that  shuns  the  paths  of  men. 
Light  searches  me  too  deep:  my  conscious  soul 
Starts  inward — and  escapes  the  eye  of  day. 
Oh!  bosom  peace,  now  lost! — were  there,  in  guilt. 
No  weight  more  painful,  than  this  lour  of  brow, 
Yet,  shun  it  all, — you,  who  have  hearts,  like  men  — 
That  you  may  raise  the  front,  and  look,  like  virtue. 


An  Example  of  Anger  in  Love. 

Patience!  —  curse  patience — why  dost  thou  talk  of  patience, 

With  the  same  breath,  the  same  cold,  tasteless  calmness, 

That  spoke  distraction  to  me?     Hast  thou  not  told  me 

That  she  confesses  it?  that  this  proud  beauty, 

This  haughty,  fierce,  disdainful,  marbly  virtue. 

That  scorn' d  my  honest  passion — this  austefe  frowner, 

Has  been — perdition  on  the  name!  'twould  choke  me. 

Hast  thou  not  fir'd  me  with  the  basest  truth 

That  ever  stung  the  heart  of  a  fool  lover? 

And  dost  thou  talk  of  patience! — give  it  to  statesmen; 

I  spurn  the  servile  lesson.     Patience,  saidst  thou  ? 

Rage  and  despair  have  broke  upon  my  soul 

And  wash'd  away  all  patience. 


Hill  'i-  Essay.  3 1 1 


An  Example  of  Pity  in  Love. 

When  the  blood  boils,  and  beauty  fires  the  soul, 
What  will  the  tongue  not  swear?    Discretion,  then, 
Does  with  a  peacock's  feather  fan  the  sun. 
Yet,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  wild  desires, 
Thou  wert  the  warmest  wish  my  heart  pursu'd. 
My  love  to  thee  was  permanent  and  strong. 
Thy  beauties  were  my  waking  theme,  and  night 
Grew  charming  by  soft  dreams  of  thy  perfection. 
Still  I  regard  thee  with  the  same  desires; 
Gaze,  with  the  same  transporting  pity,  on  thee, 
As  dying  fathers  bless  a  weeping  child  with. 


An  Example  of  Scorn  in  Love. 

Yes!  virtue! — Thou  hast  every  well-known  virtue 

That  thy  whole  sex  is  fam'd  for:  —  kind,  soft  virtues! 

Spleen,  affectation,  pride,  ill-nature,  noise, 

Lightness  in  reason,  insolence  in  will, 

Giddy  ambition's  ever-varied  whirl. 

Wishes  that  change  till  ev'n  distaste  grows  pleasing, 

And  tenderness,  all  tir'd,  makes  room  for  fury. 

Virtues? — immortal  gods!  —  Your  best  wcigh'd  virtues 

Serve  but  to  smile  deceit  from  heart  to  heart, 

Till,  for  your  idol,  dear  variety! 

Loathing  an  angel's  form,  you  grasp  a  devil's ! 


An  Example  of  Hatred  in  Love. 

Bane  of  my  peace,  life,  fame! — my  sick'ning  soul 
Shrinks  with  indignant  shame  from  her  idea ! 
All  that  she  once  betray'd  me  to  believe 
Turns  poison  on  my  fancy.     Each  loath'd  beauty 
Serves  but  to  feed  the  fire  with  which  I  hate  her. 
I  know  her  to  the  heart;  I  see  her,  now, 


312         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Langttage. 

Not  thro"  her  smiles  —  I  reach  her  thro'  her  falsehood, 
View  her  all  black  with  guilt,  all  base  with  infamy. 
Light  and  elusive  as  the  wand'ring  fires 
Which  gleam,  destructive,  on  the  edge  of  night, 
And  tempt  to  waylaid  fens  the  flatter'd  traveler. 
Oh!  I  could  curse  her  all-bewitching  charms, 
That  (shun'd  and  hated),  still  persist  to  hold  me, 
And  hang  their  drowning  grasp  about  my  fancy. 


An  Example  of  Jealousy  in  Love. 

But  why,  and  whence,  her  tears?  those  looks?  her  flight? 

That  grief,  so  strangely  stamp'd  on  every  feature? 

If  it  has  been  that  Frenchman — what  a  thought! 

How  low,  how  horrid,  a  suspicion,  that! 

The  dreadful  flash  at  once  gives  light,  and  kills  me. 

An  infidel!  a  slave! — A  heart  like  mine 

Reduced  to  suffer  from  so  vile  a  rival! 

But  tell  me,  didst  thou  mark  them  at  their  parting? 

Didst  thou  observe  the  language  of  their  eyes? 

Hide  nothing  from  me!  —  Is  my  love  betray'd? 

Tell  me  my  whole  disgrace. —  Nay,  if  thou  tremblest, 

I  hear  thy  pity  speak,  tho'  thou  art  silent. 


An  Example  of  Wonder  in  Love. 

I  stand  immovable — like  senseless  marble! 
Horror  had  frozen  my  suspended  tongue. 
And  an  astonish'd  silence  robb'd  my  will 
Of  power  to  tell  her — that  she  shock'd  my  soul. 
Spoke  she  to  me?    Sure  I  misunderstood  her! 
Could  it  be  to  me,  she  left! — what  have  I  seen! 
Orasmin !  what  a  change  is  here!  she's  gone! 
And  1  permitted  it — I  know  not  how. 


Hiir  s  Essay.  313 


An  Example  of  Love,  Unmixed  and  Solitary. 

Oh,  let  them  never  love  who  never  tri'd! 

They  brought  a  paper  to  me  to  be  sign'd; 

Thinking  on  him,   I  quite  forgot  my  name, 

And  writ,  for  Leonora,  Torrismond. 

I  went  to  bed,  and,  to  myself,   I  thought 

That  I  would  think  on  Torrismond  no  more. 

I   clos'd  my  eyes,  but  could  not  shut  out  him. 

Tumbling,  I  tri'd  each  downy  corner's  aid 

To  find  if  sleep  was  there;  but  sleep  was  not. 

Fev'rish  for  want  of  rest,   I  rose  and  walk'd, 

And  by  the  moonshine  to  my  window  went; 

There,  hopeful  to  exclude  him  from  my  thoughts, — 

But,  looking  out  upon  the  neighb'ring  plains, 

Soft  sighs,  unsummon'd,  whisper'd  to  my  soul, 

There  fought  my  Torrismond. 

I  believe  that  it  remains  evident  by  this  time 
that  the  lover's  comprehends  all  serious  dramatic 
characters  that  an  actor  can  expect  to  shine  by. 
Let  us  cease,  then,  to  wonder  that  we  can  so  sel- 
dom see  it  touched  upon  the  stage. 

And  now  we  consider  the  natural  foundation  of 
that  mechanism  in  the  art  described  whereby  the 
springs  are  moved  to  represent  the  passions  out- 
wardly. 

It  will  have  been  observed  that  their  specific  dif- 
ferences are  far  from  being  so  remote  as  the  re- 
pugnance of  the  passions  would  appear  to  place 
them. 

See  this  in  all  the  ten  examples :  Joy  is  ex- 
pressed by  muscles  intense  and  a  smile  in  the  eye ; 
anger,  by  muscles  intense  and  a  frown  in  the  eye ; 

p.  S.  L.-27. 


314         -^   Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

pity,  by  muscles  intense  and  a  sadness  in  the  eye ; 
hatred,  by  muscles  intense  and  aversion  in  the  eye ; 
wonder,  by  muscles  intense  and  an  awful  alarm  in 
the  eye ;  love,  by  muscles  intense  and  a  respectful 
attachment  in  the  eye ;  grief,  by  neither  muscles 
nor  eye  intense,  but  both  languid ;  fear,  by  mus- 
cles and  look  both  languid,  with  an  alarm  in  eye 
and  motion. 

Scorn,  by  muscles  languid  and  neglected,  with  a 
smile  in  the  eye  to  express  the  light,  or  a  frown 
in  the  eye  for  the  serious  species. 

Jealousy,  by  muscles  intense  and  the  look  pen- 
sive ;  or  the  look  intense  and  muscles  languid, 
interchangeably.  And  if  the  natural  causes  of 
such  near  resemblance  in  the  mechanism  of  op- 
posite passions  be  inquired  into,  they  will  all  be 
evidently  deduced  from  the  reflections  following. 

Questions  and  Answers. 

Detnonstratinj;  the  tiatuj-al  Causes  0/  the  Meehanisiii  in  the  Rules  fotegoing. 

Question  I.  Why  is  joy  expressed  by  muscles 
intense  and  a  smile  in  the  eye  ? 

Answer.  Joy  is  pride  possessed  of  triumph. 
Pride  and  triumph  give  inflated  ideas,  and  high 
raised  and  bold  conceptions.  But  the  muscles  must 
be  intense  when  they  express  elevation,  because 
relaxed  nerves  are  peculiar  to  depressed  conception, 
and  the  eye  must  be  smiling  before  it  can  paint 
satisfaction,  because  a  frown  would  imply  discon- 
tent; and  to  conceive  joy  with  displeasure  is  a 
false,    because  an  unnatural,    impression. 


HilTs  Essay.  315 

OuES.  II.  Why  is  anger  expressed  with  r.:uscles 
intense  and  a  frown  in  the  eye  ? 

Ans.  Anger  is  pride  provoked  beyond  regard 
of  caution.  Uncautious  pride  exults  in  menaces 
and  arrogance.  But  neither  arrogance  nor  menaces 
can  consist  with  relaxation  of  the  nerves,  because 
slack  muscles  are  a  consequence  of  weak  and  faint, 
not  boastful   and  avowed,    ideas. 

The  eye,  too,  in  this  passion,  is  overclouded  by 
a  frown,  because  it  catches  sense  of  indignation 
from  vindictive  and  distasteful  images ;  and  not  to 
show  that  outward  mark  of  .the  mind,  agitation  in- 
wardly would  be  assuming  a  disguise  to  cover  sen- 
sibility,—  a  prudence  never  natural  in  anger,  because 
its  great  characteristic  property  is  rash  and  open 
insult. 

OuES.  III.  Why  is  pity  expressed  by  muscles 
intense  and  a  sadness  in  the  eye? 

Ans.  Pity  is  active  grief  for  another's  afflictions. 
But  we  can  never  sincerely  mourn  distresses  when 
we  do  not  feel  them  touchingly.  Whatever  we  so 
feel  we  look,  —  by  natural  inclination  and  necessity. 
No  visage  but  a  sad  one,  therefore,  can  consist 
with  the  distress  of  pity.  But  the  muscles,  to  ex- 
press this  passion,  must  be  braced  ;  because,  what- 
ever we  pity  we  intensely  wish  to  give  relief  to ; 
and  since  the  will,  when  active,  compels  active 
fibers,  it  remains  a  natural  consequence  that  this 
seeming  contrariety  between  the  gesture  and  the 
look  is  the  true  medium  to  express  compassion ; 
for,  being  nature's  own  effect,  when  she  impresses 
marks  of   pity  in  her  usual  manner,   art,   assuming 


3i6         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

the  same  outward  springs  to  work  by,  can  not  fail 
to  represent  her  with  exactness. 

QuES.  IV.  Why  is  hatred  expressed  by  muscles 
intense  and  aversion  in  the  eye? 

Ans.  Hatred  is  restrained  yet  lasting  anger. 
Anger  inflames  the  will,  and  as  the  will,  becom- 
ing active,  actuates  the  muscles,  they  must  neces- 
sarily be  strained  hard,  and  prompt  to  violent 
exertion  when  they  would  express  this  passion 
properly.  But  then  as  it  is  anger  not  thrown  out, 
but  patient,  covered,  and  restrained,  the  eye  with- 
draws itself  from  a  distasteful  object  to  imply  aver- 
sion in  restraint  of  fury ;  and  herein  consists  the 
natural  distinction  that  paints  hatred  on  the  out- 
ward lineaments. 

QuES.  V.  Why  is  wonder  expressed  by  muscles 
intense  and  an  awful  alarm  in  the  eye  ? 

Ans.  Wonder  is  inquisitive  fear.  As  it  is  in- 
quisitive, it  is  steadfast,  and  demands  firm  muscles. 
But  as  it  is  fear  it  can  not  justly  be  expressed 
without  the  marks  of  apprehension  and  alarm. 
Were  this  alarm  a  too-disturbed  one,  full  of  mo- 
tion and  anxiety,  it  would  paint  fear  instead  of 
wonder,  and  would  carry  no  consistence  with  braced 
muscles.  It  is,  therefore,  firmly  nerved,  because 
inquisitive  with  purpose  of  defense ;  and  so  this 
application  of  alarm,  with  resolution  to  examine 
steadfastly,  must  constitute  a  nervous,  awful,  and 
fixed  attentiveness,  and  give  the  picture  of  the 
passion   naturally. 

QuES.  VI.  Why  is  love  expressed  by  muscles 
intense  and  a  respectful  attachment  in  the  eye.? 


Hill 's    Essay.  3 1  7 

Ans.  Love  is  desire  kept  temperate  by  rever- 
ence. Desire  must  be  attached,  and,  as  in  love, 
its  object  is  a  visible  one,  desire  of  objects  visible 
must  show  itself  most  plainly  in  the  eye.  But 
then  our  fear  to  give  distaste,  attempering  desire 
with  reverence,  creates  respectful  softness  in  the 
look  and  attitude.  And  this  external  softness,  be- 
ing strengthened  by  an  inward  brace  upon  the 
nerves  (the  natural  consequence  of  hope  and  joy), 
enlivening  reverence  by  effusion  of  a  sparkling 
pleasure,  there  is  transmitted  to  the  eye,  the  ear, 
and  heart  of  an  attentive  audience,  the  same  im- 
pression which    the  actor's  spirits   are  impelled  by. 

QuES.  VII.  Why  is  grief  expressed  by  neither 
muscles  nor  look  intense,    but  both  languid  ? 

Ans.  Grief  is  disappointment  void  of  hope  ;  but 
muscles  braced  intense  imply  hope  strongly,  and  a 
spirited  vivacity  in  the  eye  is  the  effect  of  pleasure 
and  elevation.  These  are  naturally  consistent  with  a 
passage  that  depresses,  which  grief  manifestly  does, 
because  depression  slackens  all  the  nerves;  nerves 
unbraced  deject  the  look,  and  air,  in  necessary 
consequence,  and,  therefore,  a  relaxed  mien  and 
languid  eye  must  form  the  truest  picture  of  a  nat- 
ural sorrow. 

QuES.  VIII.  Why  is  fear  expressed  by  languid 
look  and  muscles,    with  alarm    in  eye  and  motion  ? 

Ans.  Fear  is  grief  discerning  and  avoiding  dan- 
ger. As  it  is  grief,  it  must  depress  the  spirits 
and  unbrace  the  muscles,  whence  the  languid  air 
becomes  adapted  and  characteristic.  But,  as  it  is 
grief,   not  careless  and  resigned,   but  apprehensive. 


3 1 8         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

fugitive,  and  starting,  it  demands  a  lightness  in  the 
motion,  with  a  watchful,  though  unanimated,  sharp- 
ness in  the  eye,  because  the  fancy  has  a  conceived 
idea  of  threatening  mischief;  but  the  object,  over- 
charging the  imagination,  has  relaxed  the  uncon- 
curring  fibers  into  a  debility,  unable  to  obey  the 
will,  which,  therefore,  but  evades,  and  not  resists, 
the  danger. 

QuES.  IX.  Why  is  scorn  expressed  by  languid 
muscles,  with  a  smile  upon  the  eye  in  the  light 
species,    or  a  frown  to  hit  the  serious? 

Ans.  Scorn  is  negligent  anger.  It  insinuates, 
therefore,  by  a  voluntary  slackness  or  disarming  of 
the  nerves,  a  known  or  a  concluded  absence  of  all 
power  in  the  insulted  object,  even  to  make  defense 
seem  necessary.  And  the  unbraced  muscles  are 
assisted  in  this  show  of  contemptuous  disregard  by 
an  affected  smile  upon  the  eye,  because  slack  nerves, 
if,  at  the  same  time,  the  look  were  also  languid, 
would  too  much  resemble  sorrow,  or  even  fear ; 
whereas,  the  purpose  is  disdain  and  insult.  And 
though,  in  more  provoking,  serious  cases,  where 
the  scorn  admits  disturbance,  it  assumes  some  sense 
of  anger ;  it  must  still  retain  the  slack,  unguarded 
languor  on  the  nerves,  lest  it  should  seem  to  have 
conceived  impressions  of  some  estimable  or  impor- 
tant weightiness,  where  its  design  is  utter  disregard 
and  negligence. 

QuES.  X.  Why  is  jealousy  expressed  by  mus- 
cles intense,  and  the  look  pensive, —  or  by  the  look 
intense,    and  the  muscles  languid  interchangeably? 

Ans.    Jealousy  is  doubtful  anger  struggling  against 


Hiirs   Essay.  319 

faith  and  pity.  It  is  a  tenderness  resisted  by  re- 
sentment of  suspected  injury ;  and  thence,  the 
nerves,  braced  strong,  imply  determination  of  re- 
venge and  punishment.  While,  at  the  same  time, 
a  soft,  pensive  hesitation  in  the  eye  confesses  a 
reluctance  at  the  heart  to  part  with,  or  efface,  a 
gentle  and  indulged  idea. 

Sometimes,  again,  it  is  rage  at  a  concluded  infi- 
delity, and  then  the  eye  receives  and  flashes  out 
the  sparklings  of  inflamed  ideas ;  while  the  muscles, 
counteracting  the  will's  violence,  from  a  repressive 
disposition  of  the  heart,  grow  slack  and  loose  their 
spring,  and  so  disarm,  or  modify  enraged  imagi- 
nation. 

And  from  this  unsettled  wavering  in  the  balance 
of  the  purpose,  where  the  heart  and  judgment 
weigh  each  other,  and  both  scales,  by  turns,  pre- 
ponderate, is  deduced  a  glowing  picture  of  this 
passion. 

I  have  traveled  now  through  ten  pathetic  stages, 
where  an  actor  must  not  stop  for  rest,  as  in  his 
other  journies,  but  for  labor ;  and  such  a  labor  will 
he  truly  find  it  (if  he  enters  naturally  into  the  de- 
mand of  those  strong  passions),  that  neither  mind 
nor  body  can  be  capable  of  choosing  a  more  health- 
fully fatiguing  exercise. 

And  this  remark  brings  into  my  remembrance  a 
great  and  general  mistake  among  the  players  at 
rehearsal,  where  it  is  their  common  practice  to  mut- 
ter over  their  parts  inwardly,  and  keep  in  their 
voices  with  a  misimagined  purpose  of  preserving 
them    against    their    evening    acting ;    whereas,    the 


320         A  Plea  for  Spoken  Language. 

surest  natural  means  of  strengthening  their  dehvery 
would  be  to  warm,  de-phlegm,  and  clarify  the 
thorax  and  wind-pipe  by  exerting  (the  more  fre- 
quently the  better)  their  fullest  power  of  utterance ; 
thereby  to  open  and  remove  all  hesitation,  rough- 
ness, or  obstruction,  and  to  tune  their  voices  by 
effect  of  such  continual  exercise,  into  habitual  mel- 
lowness and  ease  of  compass  and  inflection,  just 
from  the  same  reason  that  an  active  body  is  more 
strong  and  healthy  than  a  sedentary  one. 


I 


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